


Queer Eye: The Umbrella Academy

by hipsterchrist



Category: Queer Eye for the Straight Guy RPF, The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Coping, Crossover, Dysfunctional Family, Everyone Needs A Hug, Family, Family Dynamics, Gen, Implied Relationships, Implied/Referenced Incest, M/M, Makeover, Past Abuse, Pre-Slash, Pseudo-Incest, Recovery, Self-Discovery, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Indulgent, Sexual Tension, Sibling Love, Sobriety, Superpowers, Therapy, Timeline What Timeline
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-12
Updated: 2019-05-12
Packaged: 2020-03-01 09:18:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 32,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18797452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hipsterchrist/pseuds/hipsterchrist
Summary: "I think this will be a challenge for all of us," Bobby says. "This family’s a real fucking mess." A chorus of agreement meets his ears."Are we up for it?" Antoni asks, turning toward them all again with a dopey smile. "Are we going to take the Umbrella Academy to school?" As if on reflex now, they all cheer."My god, who writes this copy?" Bobby mutters.





	Queer Eye: The Umbrella Academy

**Author's Note:**

> A few things:
> 
> I once wrote 160k words of Draco Malfoy/George Weasley and this is still the most self-indulgent thing I've ever written.
> 
> me: I'm going to write a quick funny queer eye meets umbrella academy fic!  
> my brain: lol it's cute you think you can write anything under 10k and without intense character study
> 
> This fic contains just as much sexual tension between Diego and Klaus as the show does and just as much implication that Tan and Antoni are fucking/in love as everything they do. If that's not your thing, move along.
> 
> Oh, also, the movie Diego and Klaus are referring to is the 1995 cult classic _Empire Records_. "Who knows where thoughts come from? They just appear."

It’s too warm in the car and Bobby is squashed between Jonathan and Tan in the back seat. He tugs gently on the collar of his shirt and debates whether the inevitable overreaction from everyone else will be worth squeezing himself between the front seats and reaching forward to turn the air up as Antoni flicks a fingertip over the iPad screen.

“Okay, so you guys know Allison Hargreeves?” Antoni says, glancing around at the others. Jonathan gasps.

“Love her!” he says.

“I really enjoyed her in that Sandra Bullock film,” Tan says, nodding.

“ _Love on Loan 2_ is highly underrated,” Karamo declares.

“It’s not,” Bobby says in an undertone. Jonathan smacks at his elbow. On his right, though, Tan coughs to cover up a snort of laughter and digs his fingers into Bobby’s knee. Bobby bites back a grin and does not make eye contact. Eye contact at such a time as this would be near fatal.

“Wait, we’re not doing Allison Hargreeves, are we?” Jonathan asks.

“Well, it’s complicated,” Antoni says, looking back down at the iPad.

“Tell me, hunny, I’m all ears,” Jonathan says.

“Do any of you remember the Umbrella Academy?” Antoni says. Bobby gasps, fully genuine and desperate. Both hands fly to grip at the shoulders of Antoni and Karamo’s seats.

“Antoni,” Bobby says. “Oh my god, Antoni, please tell me we’re going to that house.” Antoni turns around and grins, crooked and delighted.

“We are going to that house!” Bobby sits back and actually, sincerely presses his hand over his heart.

“Oh my god,” he whispers.

“And we are working on the whole family!” Antoni continues. Bobby closes his eyes as everyone else cheers at this news and tries to get a handle on his emotions and expectations. He doesn’t have any idea what work will need to be done, or even what the inside actually looks like, even now, but...goddamn. That _house_.

“Is this our first quartet?” Karamo asks.

“Aww, Fab Four!” says Jonathan.

“There’s actually six of them,” Antoni says. Bobby opens his eyes.

“What? No, there’s not,” he says. 

“I thought one of them died,” Tan says.

“And another one went missing,” Jonathan says.

“Well,” Antoni says, casting his eyes over the screen again, “Number Five is back, _and_ it turns out there’s another sister. Her name is Vanya.”

“A secret sister?!” Tan exclaims, his eyes wide and his mouth agape.

“Allison nominated Vanya,” Antoni reads. “She says Vanya recently went through a bad breakup with a manipulative guy--”

“Ew,” Jonathan says, curling his lip in disgust.

“-- _and_ learned she has powers after a lifetime of believing she was ordinary, all in the week after their dad died,” Antoni finishes.

“Oh, shit,” Bobby says quietly.

“That’s a _lot_ of emotional upheaval,” Karamo says, eyes already big with concern.

“Yeah, so Vanya needs help coming into her own power, not just as, you know, a superpowered person but also just, like--”

“As a woman in general,” Karamo says. Antoni nods.

“Exactly,” he says. “Allison admits she hasn’t always been there for her sister but she’s trying to do better now, especially with their dad gone and all these family secrets coming to light. But _here’s_ where it starts to get complicated: Vanya _also_ nominated a family member.”

“Stop it!” Tan says.

“Their brother, Luther,” Antoni says.

“Spaceboy!” Tan very nearly squeals.

“ _Yes_ , he was always my _favorite_ ,” Antoni says, craning his neck to meet Tan’s eyes. Tan intones an enthusiastic, “Mm _hmmm_ ,” in a way that indicates both Tan and Antoni jerked off over Number One when they were younger, and probably will again tonight, with each other in the room, watching. Bobby grimaces and returns Karamo’s weary look in the rearview mirror. On Bobby’s left side, Jonathan hums noncommittally. 

“Luther must be having a hard time adjusting without their dad, huh?” Karamo says in a leading sort of tone. Tan kicks hard at the back of Antoni’s seat and Antoni turns away hastily.

“And probably just to life on earth again generally, right?” Bobby offers as Tan looks too casually out the window. “I mean, how long was he up on the moon? Like, four years?”

“Yeah,” Antoni says, scratching at the back of his neck. “She says he has some body image issues after a botched medical procedure and he could use some help accepting himself how he is now.”

“That’s so sweet of her,” Jonathan says.

“It says _a lot_ about the person Vanya is,” Karamo says, “that she would nominate her brother even while she’s going through so much of her own stuff.”

“Well, Luther also nominated someone,” Antoni says.

“Oh my god!” Tan exclaims.

“It’s too much,” Jonathan says happily.

“He nominated Number Five, who he says disappeared when they were thirteen because he time traveled and got stuck in the future,” Antoni reads. “He spent forty-five years there, but when he returned recently, he was back in his thirteen-year-old body.”

“Wait,” Bobby says after a silent moment.

“He’s _fifty-eight years old_ but he looks _thirteen_?!” Tan says, distraught. 

“I have nightmares like that,” Jonathan says with a shudder.

“Luther says Five needs help coping with some not so moral things he did while he was time traveling,” Antoni says, turning to look around at them all. “He doesn’t go into details, so I’m a little scared. And he needs a new wardrobe because all he has now is a closet full of their old Academy uniforms.”

“On it,” Tan says.

“Luther also describes Five as ‘obnoxiously stubborn,’” Antoni says. “He says, ‘Five will tell you the only thing he actually needs is a decent cup of coffee.’”

“Don’t we all?” Bobby says.

“So that’s three down, right?” asks Karamo, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. Bobby glances out the window and realizes he has no idea what city they’re in.

“Yeah, so, another brother, Diego--”

“ _He_ was _my_ favorite!” Jonathan exclaims. He’s clearly been waiting for Diego to be mentioned for the very purpose of a dramatic declaration. “Mmm, the way he curved that knife trajectory? _Yas._ ”

“Diego nominated Klaus - the Séance, remember?” Antoni says, looking up. “He talks to the dead.”

“That’s gotta be a difficult thing,” Karamo says.

“Diego says Klaus has just gotten sober after seventeen years--”

“Holy shit!” Bobby says. “Celebrate _that_!”

“--and he wants to make sure Klaus is fully equipped to not fall back into addiction again. Klaus apparently also time traveled recently and now he’s technically a veteran of the Vietnam War--”

“Whoa!” Tan says. 

“--where he met and served with the love of his life, who was then killed,” Antoni finishes, frowning.

“Fuck,” Karamo whispers.

“Diego also notes that Klaus hasn’t actually talked to anyone about Vietnam, including him. He figured all this out from observation and context clues.”

“Oh, what a sweet brother,” Jonathan says wistfully. “He cares so much.”

“Gotta get that out, right, Karamo?” Bobby says, reaching up to squeeze Karamo’s shoulder.

“Gotta get it out,” Karamo confirms. “Gotta talk about it.”

“In a very _Gift of the Magi_ -esque twist,” Antoni says, “Klaus nominated Diego--”

“Antoni!” Tan shrieks. “We've talked about this! You cannot just say any situation that’s an unexpected but equal exchange of something is like _Gift of the Magi_! That’s not what that means!”

“Oh, come on, Tanny, let Antoni feel smart,” Jonathan says. Tan hesitates for a fraction of a moment, clearly waiting to see if Antoni will rise to the bait and turn around to quip at Jonathan, before miming putting his hands around Antoni’s neck and strangling, his jaw set in a particular annoyance that Bobby knows by now is both feigned and too, too real. 

“Klaus says Diego has been keeping up a vigilante act for years now,” Antoni reads. “He only dresses in black, carries knives everywhere, doesn’t have a real job, and his last girlfriend wasn’t even still his girlfriend when she was killed in the line of duty while rescuing Klaus from a kidnapping situation.”

“Jesus,” Bobby hisses.

“Klaus wants Diego to learn to relax and connect meaningfully with people other than Klaus and their mom--”

“They have a mom?” Jonathan asks.

“I didn’t know Reginald Hargreeves had a wife,” Bobby says.

“Apparently she was a robot,” Antoni says.

“That’s _mean_ , Antoni,” says Tan with a wicked gleam in his eyes.

“No, Tanny, she’s literally a robot.” Antoni taps on the iPad screen and holds it up to show the rest of them a photo of a beautiful blonde woman in a dress that makes Bobby feel uneasy. There’s a hint of blue light under her skin, and the longer he stares at it, the clearer it becomes that she’s got wires instead of veins.

“ _So_ Stepford,” Jonathan whispers.

“So Diego has an emotional connection with a robot,” Karamo says flatly as Antoni pulls away the iPad again. “Okay. I can work with that.”

“Klaus says, ‘Diego took our assigned numbers to heart as a kid and has spent his life trying to move up from second best. He’s always comparing himself to everyone else and fails to see nobody compares to him,’” Antoni says with a tearful smile. “Awww!”

“Shut up, I’m gonna cry!” Jonathan says, pressing his fingers under his eyes.

“Oh, uh,” Antoni says then. “Klaus also nominated Ben, Number Six.”

They all glance at each other in confusion.

“Isn’t he the one who died?” Karamo asks. Tan gasps.

“Klaus can _see_ him!”

“Oh no,” Bobby groans, wincing in sympathy.

“Yeah, Klaus says, ‘All Ben wears in the afterlife is black hoodies. Help me help him,’” Antoni reads. “So…I don’t know.”

“Okay, I like a challenge!” Tan says rather valiantly. “I’ve never dressed a dead person before.”

“I think this will be a challenge for all of us,” Bobby says. “This family’s a real fucking mess.” A chorus of agreement meets his ears.

“Are we up for it?” Antoni asks, turning toward them all again with a dopey smile. “Are we going to take the Umbrella Academy to school?” As if on reflex now, they all cheer.

“My god, who writes this copy?” Bobby mutters. Tan squeezes his knee again.

\---

Klaus isn't paying attention. Diego, who is always paying attention in one way or another, knows that Klaus isn't paying attention. Diego, who is always paying attention, knows that Klaus isn't paying attention, and yet, sometime approximately six minutes ago, Klaus somehow got ahold of one of the blades strapped on Diego's person at any given time without Diego noticing, and now he's twirling it in his fingertips by the handle, not paying attention, as he sits cross legged and barefoot on the bar, his back to the wall of booze. Diego has been watching for approximately five minutes, deeply unamused but begrudgingly too impressed at Klaus’ pickpocketing to steal it back yet. 

It's only when he sees Klaus’ eyes go unfocused that he stands up from the bench. It's only in the moment after Klaus’ other hand goes to the dog tags hanging around his neck that he walks over to the bar and snatches the knife back.

Klaus lets it go willingly, and after a second looks up to meet Diego's questioning gaze. He breaks out into a grin after a few moments, and it's filthy enough that it makes Diego shift on his feet.

“I'm no stranger to a little knifeplay, Diego,” Klaus says. With a steady hand, Diego slips the knife back into the sheath resting against his inner thigh. He raises an eyebrow.

“Shock me, shock me, shock me with that deviant behavior,” he deadpans. Klaus’ filthy grin instantly turns into one of absolutely unabashed delight.

“You remember!” he says. “I didn't even think you liked that one.”

“I remember the sneaking out at night and obsessively checking my watch and trying to keep you from doing anything really stupid,” Diego concedes. “I remember Deb.”

“Movie Deb?” Klaus asks, then adopts a sly, half-lidded look. “Or real Deb?”

“Real Deb liked your dumb ass, remember?” Diego says with a roll of his eyes. 

“Real Deb never went to rock ‘n’ roll heaven,” Klaus says sadly.

“I remember the weed, too,” Diego says distantly. Klaus perks up again.

“Oh yes,” he says. “That was a good night. Mom caught us in the kitchen making sandwiches and cooked us pancakes instead.”

“Never said a word to Dad,” Diego says.

“She was the best--” Klaus is interrupted by the doorbell ringing. He turns to look in the direction of the entrance hall. “Now who could that be?”

“I'll get it,” Five calls from upstairs. There's the sound of a blink, and then the door opening, and then Diego drawing a knife.

“Oh, come on, Diego,” Klaus murmurs, although Diego’s pretty sure he’s secretly grateful for his brother's vigilance these days.

“Last time Five answered the door I ended up getting knocked out by a vase,” Diego says quietly, eyes focused on the doorway, ready to strike. “That's not gonna happen again.” Klaus stares at him.

From the other room, Five speaks loudly enough for his voice to carry when he says, “Is that a threat?” Diego's grip on the knife tightens.

“I can't help but feel like you're leaving out some crucial details,” Klaus says, but he turns away again when he hears Allison running down the entrance hall stairs.

“Is that them?” she calls. She sounds excited. Diego frowns. Five enters moments later, takes one look at Diego, and immediately looks away, bored.

“I think you can relax, Diego,” he says, crossing to sit on the bench Diego vacated minutes ago. “Allison apparently knows them.”

“So?” Diego says. “Allison’s been full Hollywood for years now. I'm sure she knows a lot of pricks.”

“You know a lot of cops,” Five points out. Diego knows Klaus is making a _you know, he has a point_ face and he’s not even looking at him. Diego rolls his eyes as a vaguely familiar voice grows louder.

“I’m telling you, Allison, I’ve been wanting to see inside this house for _ever_. It’s going to be an _honor_ ,” the voice says. Diego finds himself relaxing instinctively before seeing Allison and the Fab Five enter the room. He slips the knife back into the harness just below his ribcage. 

“Why didn’t you just say it was the Queer Eye guys?” he asks Five.

“Who?” Five asks.

“God, I can’t wait for this,” Klaus says, hopping off the bar and clapping his hands. Diego turns to squint at him.

“Oh good, you three are here already,” Allison says, so Diego turns his questioning gaze on her instead, dutifully ignoring Tan France’s arm around her waist. “Where are Luther and Vanya?”

“You’d know where Luther is more than we would,” Diego says, gesturing to himself and Klaus and Five with the knife. He doesn’t _technically_ mean it to be hostile, but. Well. He’s him, and Allison is Allison, and Luther is Luther. At this point it’s just sort of the way of things.

“Shut up,” Allison snaps, then winces.

“Be nice,” Klaus singsongs. He raises his eyebrows at the Fab Five and tilts his head in their direction, tapping Diego’s booted ankle with his own bare one. “We have _guests_.” Klaus meets Diego’s eyes briefly, widening them significantly, before looking away again. He’s giving the five of them once-overs - twice-overs, by now, really - that would be more lewd if he wasn’t also still clutching the dog tags in his fist. Diego frowns.

“Vanya’s in my room,” Five says. “Luther’s in Dad’s office. Who are these guys?”

“And sitting in Dad’s chair, I’m sure,” Klaus scoffs, “but _I_ wasn’t _allowed_.”

“I caught you pilfering,” Allison says. Klaus pouts. “Five, can you go get them, please?”

“Anything to end this suspense,” Five says dryly. He blinks away.

“That is so cool,” Karamo says.

“It gets old,” Diego says.

“Not for Five,” says Allison with a shrug.

“Well, Luther didn’t know that,” Klaus snaps, throwing an annoyed look over his shoulder to the completely empty space behind the bar. Diego has to give the Fab Five credit - they only look mildly alarmed.

“Ben?” Diego asks.

“I know we’re waiting for people,” Jonathan says loudly, “but I just have to say I am _loving_ this look, Klaus.” Diego feels a surge of gratitude toward Jonathan as Klaus beams and twirls, releasing the necklace and grabbing at the skirt he’s wearing.

“Thank you!”

“It’s _my_ skirt,” Allison says.

“You weren’t wearing it,” Klaus says.

“He says it’s dated,” Allison tells the Fab Five.

“It is,” Tan says, letting go of her and taking a few steps toward Klaus, who sticks out his tongue at Allison. “It is a good look, though.” He raises his hand in a vague gesture as his eyes scan Klaus from head to toe. “I appreciate that you’re not committed to gender roles. Don’t worry. I’ll get you into some fresher styles.”

“Good,” Diego says, satisfied. It’s exactly what he was hoping for. Beside him, Klaus stops twirling, letting the fabric drop from his grip.

“Wait, what?” he says.

Luther walks into the room then, and the collective focus of the Fab Five - even Bobby, who hasn’t actually looked anyone in the face yet in favor of taking in the sight of the Academy’s interior design - is immediately pulled. Tan and Antoni’s jaws drop. Karamo just barely stops himself from openly staring. Bobby takes a step back.

“Oooh,” Jonathan says. “I’m sorry - Diego was always my favorite so maybe I just never paid enough attention to you, but have you always been this big? Like, is this a new development? Orrrr?”

“Diego was your favorite?” Luther says, his face scrunched in mild offense. 

“Why is that so hard to believe?” Diego says defensively. Luther shrugs his huge shoulders.

“I don’t know,” he says. “I just thought, you know, maybe Klaus….” Diego glances at Klaus, who looks confused.

“Why?” he asks. “I was never anyone’s favorite.”

“That’s not true,” Allison and Diego say in unison.

“Because, you know,” Luther stumbles over an answer, “you’re both….” Diego watches as Klaus and Jonathan’s eyes meet for a moment.

“Because they both wear heels?” Antoni offers. His tone is full of pity. Diego scoffs and shakes his head. Luther looks at him sharply and opens his mouth like he’s about to start a fight, but Vanya and Five finally arrive, and Allison claps her hands together. She rushes over and takes Vanya’s arm, pulling her forward.

“Okay!” Allison says excitedly. “Finally!”

“I don’t see why we had to wait for the whole family to be here for this to start,” Diego says. “Klaus has been right here the whole time.” Klaus looks at him, still confused.

“Why would that matter? They’re not here for me,” Klaus says.

“Actually--” Bobby starts.

“What do you mean? Of course they’re here for you,” Diego says, returning Klaus’ confused expression. Klaus laughs in his face.

“Why on earth would they be here for _moi_?” he asks, gesturing confidently to his outfit. “You can’t improve perfection.”

“You can,” Tan says quietly. From the corner of his eye, Diego sees Antoni step on Tan’s foot.

“I nominated _you_ ,” Klaus tells Diego.

“ _You_ nominated _me_?” Diego says. “I nominated _you_!”

“And _I_ nominated _Vanya_!” Allison declares, simultaneously bright and warning. “Which is the real reason why the Fab Five are here. You two should just--”

“Well, actually--” Karamo says.

“You nominated _me_?” Vanya asks, looking up at Allison. “But--I nominated Luther.”

“Really?” Luther says. He looks touched. Diego rolls his eyes and shares a look with Klaus. Vanya is way too fucking nice. “I’m grateful, Vanya, but, uh, I nominated Five.”

“Oh, have we finally gotten to me now?” Five says from behind Vanya. She and Allison part to make room for him. “I didn’t nominate anyone because I have no idea who these people are. So if one of you could--”

“There’s a television show called Queer Eye,” Diego says, figuring he might as well cut off one of Five’s self-indulgent rants as early as possible. “Jonathan, Karamo, Bobby, Antoni, and Tan” - they each give little waves as Five looks on with an inscrutable expression - “are gay men who go to nominated people’s houses and help them improve their lives.” Five raises an eyebrow and looks up at Luther.

“And you put me up for this?”

“It’s a lot of confidence building,” Luther explains. “You’ve been through so much. I just figured--I mean, you at least deserve a wardrobe that’s not our old Academy uniform.”

“Yes, I’ll be doing that,” Tan says with a pleasant smile. Five looks at him for a few moments before turning back toward Luther.

“Well, that’s...very thoughtful of you, Luther,” he says. He turns to address Tan and the other four again. “These people you help - what’s their deal?”

“Usually they’re straight,” Bobby concedes. Five nods slowly.

“The implication being that straight people don’t have their lives together but people on the other end of the sexuality spectrum do,” he says, like he’s working it out for himself. He casts a scathing glance in Diego and Klaus’ direction. “That has not always been my experience.”

“Hey, Klaus is doing a lot better lately,” Diego says as Klaus simply shrugs. Five smirks at Diego.

“I was looking at both of you,” he says.

“I’m not gay,” Diego says.

“And technically neither am I,” Klaus says absentmindedly, “if that matters.”

“That’s totally valid,” Antoni says. Klaus gives a happy little hum, evidently reassured.

“Hang on,” Luther says. “Diego, you’re--” Diego braces himself, staring at Luther, waiting. “Are you--”

“Luther, please don’t tell me you thought Diego is straight,” Allison says lowly.

“Of course, I did,” Luther says. “He’s never said otherwise!” Klaus sucks at his teeth and shakes his head.

“That’s heteronormativity for you,” he says, turning a stretch into a solidarity punch in Diego’s arm.

“How did Five know?” Luther asks, affronted. “Did you tell Five and not me?”

“I didn’t tell _anyone_ because it’s not anyone’s business,” Diego snarls.

“Leave him alone, Luther,” Klaus says tiredly. “It’s not like _I_ ever came out.”

“You didn’t have to,” Allison says in a dubious tone. Klaus lazily sticks up his middle finger at her.

“So since we all nominated each other,” says Five, his voice raised to cut off the brewing argument, “I assume you’ve recognized all the red flags as one unified cry for help and you’re here for the whole family.” Bobby nods.

“Pretty much exactly, yeah,” he says.

“No one nominated Allison,” Luther points out.

“I’ll consider that a compliment,” Allison says quietly, a small smile playing on her lips as she glances at the Fab Five. Karamo reaches out to rest his big hand on her shoulder.

“Don’t worry, girl,” he says. “I may not be _here_ for you, but I’m still _here_ for you. I can tell you need it.” Allison’s eyes grow instantly shiny. Her lip wobbles a bit as she rests her hand atop Karamo’s.

“For the record, I also nominated Ben,” Klaus says, raising a hand and pointing behind the bar. Diego doesn’t bother to look this time.

“What’s wrong with Ben?” Vanya asks, genuinely curious.

“All he wears are these hoodies,” Klaus says with a great roll of his eyes. “I’m _bored_.” There’s a moment of silence before Klaus whips his head around to glare at empty space. “Well, _I’m_ the one who has to look at you all the time!”

“So,” Five says, sticking his hands into his pockets and looking at the Fab Five expectantly, “where do we start?”

\---

They - the Fab Five - come to realize, after only ten minutes, which Tan thinks is still far too long, that this process will probably work best if they - the Hargreeves siblings - are all separated. Of course, it doesn't work out perfectly, numbers-wise, because there are six superpowered walking catastrophes and only five tirelessly dedicated queens. But it’s the first day, and Allison is hesitant to let Vanya out of her sight, and Bobby is wandering all over the house and grounds gasping and trying to get a handle on things, and Diego and Klaus seem to just orbit each other, so it ends up being even, all things considered.

Tan goes through Klaus’ clothes, and then Allison's closet after Klaus admits that his own measly collection doesn't represent his true style, and then Tan gestures to Diego leaning against the doorframe and says, “Shall we take a look at yours next?” and Diego scoffs.

“You think I keep any clothes here?”

“Everything he's wearing now is all he owns,” Klaus says, giving Tan and Diego both a dark look. “Just a dozen all black spandex ensembles.” He pronounces _ensembles_ in the correct French fashion. Tan can feel his eyebrow twitching.

“It's not spandex,” Diego says calmly, “it's leather. Why do people keep calling it fucking spandex?”

“Because some of it is, you ass,” Klaus says. He turns toward Tan, who feels very tired all of a sudden. “He has to be able to move properly in his line of work. You know.” He starts miming climbing through windows, dramatically spying on people, throwing knives and kicking bad guys. He looks absolutely mad. Tan turns away from him.

“I can find pieces for you that offer full range of motion that are neither spandex _nor_ leather,” Tan tells Diego, who eyes him warily for a moment before shrugging.

“I'll see,” he says. Tan figures that's as enthusiastic as he's going to get. Diego Hargreeves is the antithesis to Jonathan Van Ness. It's unnerving but acceptable.

“Now, I have to ask,” Tan adds as they're leaving the house for their shopping excursion, “about this harness you wear.” Klaus just about collapses into the backseat of Diego's car, apparently overcome with delight. He barely pulls his feet in to safety before Diego slams the back door much harder than necessary.

“Yeah,” Diego says gruffly, getting into the driver's seat. “What about it?” Tan buckles his own seatbelt before looking back at Diego.

“I assume you custom made it yourself,” he says carefully.

“More or less,” Diego says as he starts the car.

“Right, okay,” Tan says. “And was it originally a, erm, like--” He bites his lip. “You know, a _harness_?” There's a sound from the backseat that makes Tan turn to look at Klaus, whose long body is still splayed across the full space, and whose fingers are presently stroking the pale skin of his abdomen exposed by his bright orange crop top as he lets out a loud giggle. The entire display is honestly a bit obscene. Tan turns back to look directly in front of him and Diego scowls into the rearview mirror.

“Sit up and lean back,” he says sharply. Tan recognizes it as an order, and obviously Klaus does, too, because he obeys without question, albeit lazily. A tiny thrill of surprise warms Tan’s neck. He's fairly certain Klaus wouldn't acquiesce so easily for anyone else in the family. Diego clears his throat.

“It, uh,” he says, shifting the gear into drive, “it was. Yeah.” Tan nods.

“Not your thing then?” he asks conversationally. Klaus snorts.

“Not really, no,” Diego answers.

At a little boutique in downtown...whatever the hell city this is, Tan and Diego watch for hours as Klaus tries on crop sweaters and knee-length skirts and colorful shirts that cling to his skin and show off his arms. Tan keeps trying to gently push more muted, more professional items - a few blazers, some simple collared button-ups, a couple trousers that don’t require lacing the sides all the way up to his hips - that Klaus keeps unceremoniously declining. He’s polite about it, but Tan senses there’s a line involved, and around lunchtime he stands next to Klaus in front of the fitting room mirrors and pokes at the tiger tattoo on his bare shoulder.

“You know I love color and a print,” he says, “but I have to ask: why the firm resistance to anything black?” Klaus opens his mouth, then closes it, then meets Diego’s eyes in the mirror, then drops his gaze to the floor.

“It’s--” he starts.

“It’s alright,” Tan says quietly, soothingly. Klaus looks up again. He seems lost.

“He used to wear a lot of it when he was still using,” Diego says softly, shifting on his feet. He glances at Klaus. “That’s what it is, right?” Klaus nods and meets Tan’s eyes.

“I started wearing a lot more color when I started getting clean. It wasn’t like, a conscious thing,” he explains. “But when I was still, you know, high all the time, I would...occasionally...barge into my siblings’ lives, crash on their floor, swear I was getting my life together - ‘Look, Vanya, I’m wearing a suit jacket so you know it’s real, I have a job interview tomorrow, Allison, and this time I'm telling the truth, I promise.’” He rubs his hand over his face, clutches at his neck and slowly draws up the chain of his necklace until the dog tags are clasped tight in his fist. Tan maintains eye contact, takes the moment to appreciate the thousand yard stare. Klaus sways exactly once before Diego reaches out and steadies him, a hand on his shoulder, squeezing. Klaus takes a deep breath.

“And then I’d steal money from them for drugs and--” Klaus says in a rush, his focus clearing, waving his free hand through the air in a flighty gesture. “Skedaddle.” He jerks his head back toward his brother. “Did it to Diego twice.”

“That was a long time ago,” Diego says, shaking his head.

“Vanya wrote her book a long time ago and you still haven’t forgiven her,” Klaus says.

“That’s different,” Diego insists. He drops his hand. “And anyway, I think I have now.” Klaus huffs out a laugh.

“Nothing like the apocalypse to put things into perspective,” he says. Tan blinks.

“What?”

“Hmm?” says Klaus. He waves his hand dismissively. “Nothing. The point is, Tan, I’m trying to get my family to take me seriously these days, and I don’t think I can do that by piling my wardrobe high with business casuals.” Tan breaks into a smile.

“You’re trying to be taken seriously, so you’re wearing bright colors and loud prints,” he says. Klaus smiles back.

“I know it’s backwards,” he says. “I think you’ll find most things about me are.” Tan shakes his head.

“No, this is just you - the real you, without all the substances, yeah?” Klaus nods. Behind him, Diego ducks his head to hide his own smile. It’s terribly endearing. “You know, you can wear this style of clothing in colors and prints,” Tan points out. “I can get you a turquoise blazer, if that’s the type of thing you want.” Klaus’ eyes go wide.

“You can get me a turquoise blazer?” he says.

“Klaus Hargreeves,” Tan declares, putting his hands on Klaus’ arms, “I will get you _in_ a turquoise blazer.” Klaus grins.

“My eyes are already bleeding,” Diego says, but his gaze is warm with affection. Tan points at him.

“You’re next, smartass,” he says.

The three of them have lunch together at a table for four in the rather dingy little bistro next door, where Tan coaxes the story of the dog tags out of Klaus, makes a mental note to tell Karamo about Dave, and then makes a literal note to himself - because _where_ the hell has his phone gone since they walked through the Umbrella Academy gate this morning? - to throw in a few Army green pieces to Klaus’ finished wardrobe by the end of the week. Diego tries to head back to the car when they leave the restaurant, but Klaus yells in shrill protest and grabs his arm, and Diego allows himself to be led into a shop across the street.

“Now, how familiar are you with jersey knit?” Tan asks before guiding Diego to the fitting rooms, arms laden with clothes he’s prepared to fight to get Diego to even try on. Klaus flops down into a plush armchair, dangling one long leg over the arm, and starts talking to nothing in the chair beside him.

“‘s just Ben,” Diego says as he rests his hand on the doorknob of the largest fitting room. Tan raises his eyebrows at him. The corner of Diego’s mouth quirks up. “You looked freaked.” Tan shakes his head and rolls his eyes a bit.

“I suppose you’ve had time to get used to it,” he says. Diego opens the door far enough for Tan to walk inside. He begins arranging the items in his arms thematically, hanging casual t-shirts separate from the sweaters separate from the jeans and dressier trousers, before rearranging the pieces into actual outfits. Diego stands behind him the whole time, silent and immovable in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest. 

“You're a brooder, aren't you?” Tan asks, careful to make it sound like an absentminded question instead of a deliberate observation. Distantly, as he runs his palms over the long-sleeve button-up shirt he's praying Diego will love, Tan hears Klaus laugh.

“I've been told that,” Diego says. Tan turns around and smiles at him.

“Have at it, big guy,” he says brightly. Diego sighs and stands aside to allow Tan out of the fitting room before stepping inside and closing the door behind him.

“You chose a lot of maroons and olive greens,” Klaus says softly. He shifts to sit cross-legged in the chair as Tan takes the empty one next to him - on the other side from Ben, he makes sure - and crosses one leg over the other knee in anticipation. 

“I did,” Tan confirms. His eyes are trained on what he can see of Diego's socked feet under the door, of Diego's hesitant shadow. He doesn't have to look to know that Klaus’ are, too.

“You’re good at your job,” Klaus says. Tan, who has always been extremely confident in his professional life and has never needed affirmation from anyone else regarding his career, beams.

Diego looks _good_ in the maroons and olive greens. Tan kept these selections simple: solid colors, clean lines. Everything is dark enough for Diego to blend in when needed, stretchy enough for him to move unimpeded. The thin fabrics of the long-sleeved shirts cling to his arms and make Tan actually, _literally_ salivate, and when he looks away to give himself a moment to regain his composure, he catches sight of Klaus staring intently at Diego’s reflection in the mirror, follows the movement in Klaus’ throat when he swallows.

“Does anyone else feel a bit warm?” Tan asks, pulling at the sleeves of his own sweatshirt to bunch them at his elbows. “Let me see if they can do something with the air in here. Go try the navy sweater next.”

“But you just said it’s warm,” Diego says, his brow furrowed. Tan walks away, toward the salesmen who’ve been hovering nervously at the front of the store ever since they entered. He ignores, very intentionally, the knowing smirk on Klaus’ face as he passes.

“You’re the one making him feel warm, Diego,” Tan hears Klaus saying. “He thinks you’re hot.”

“What?” Diego says. “Shut up! He does not.” Klaus laughs and Tan ducks behind a wall lined with dress socks and purses his lips. Thank God the other boys aren’t here to see him like this. They would _never_ let him hear the end of it.

“It’s sweet you still get flustered around cute guys,” Klaus says. Tan has to turn his head to hear properly, but if he glances up, he can see the distorted reflections of Klaus and Diego in the big domed security camera on the ceiling, can see Klaus getting up and sauntering forward to throw an arm around Diego’s broad shoulders, flatten his hand pointedly over the center of Diego’s muscular chest. There’s an air of protectiveness about it, of ownership. _Possession._ Tan’s mouth falls softly open of its own accord.

“I don’t get flustered,” Diego mutters, so low that Tan nearly misses it. He watches as the rounded reflection of Klaus turns his head to brush his mouth over the shell of Diego’s ear. Tan clutches at the collar of his sweatshirt, suddenly very aware of his own mouth. Has it always been this dry?

Whatever Klaus says, it’s too low for him to hear, but he sees Diego squirm - away at first, then closer - and spectacularly fail to hide a smile. Tan squints. Klaus grins crookedly, and Tan can just make out the pink flash of tongue as Klaus licks at the sharp edge of his upper canine tooth, and Tan is reminded, rather forcefully, of Antoni.

“Excuse me,” he hisses to the shop employee who’s been rearranging the socks next to him this whole time, blessedly silent and unbothered by his madness. “Is there any way I could get some water? Ice cold, if you can, please.” She nods and hurries away without a word, and when Tan turns back to watch the security camera dome, he sees Klaus patting his free hand on Diego’s abs.

“You’re the one who told me your body is a temple,” he’s saying. “What’s the point if you’re not inviting anybody to worship there?” Diego glowers at him. “No, don’t do that, I’m the only one in this family who can make pouting look sexy. Now _go_ and try on the navy sweater like the cute boy said,” he finishes with a playful shove.

“I’m not _pouting_ ,” Diego grumbles, but he shuts the fitting room door behind him and Klaus returns to his chair, sitting gracefully this time, crossing his ankles and straightening his spine as he keeps his eyes on the closed door. Tan counts to twenty before going back, taking his previous chair again and not making eye contact with Klaus.

The navy sweater is ribbed and looks best when worn over the tawny jersey silk button-up shirt, sleeves rolled up just enough to show the color of the cuffs, collar arranged just so. Tan calls it a first date outfit. Diego says it could be good for reconnaissance. Klaus is busy having a heated discussion with Ben and doesn't weigh in on the matter beyond his initial approving show of nodding and very obviously biting his tongue around the general shape of a smirk. Tan finally gets his ice water, downs it in three gulps, and still feels desperately parched.

“Shoes,” he says as they walk out of the shop. The sun is lazily threatening to set.

“Steel-toed boots,” Diego says.

“High-top Chucks, high-heeled boots, high heels,” Klaus says. Tan nods.

“Right,” sighs Tan, spotting a shoe store on the corner of the next block. “Let's make this quick, shall we?”

By the time the three of them return to the Academy, dinner is being served and the lounge kitchen is crowded with the rest of the Hargreeves siblings and the Fab Five, some of them leaning against the sink and wall as they eat. Tan catches sight of Vanya leaning against the counter as he enters the room, notes her red and glassy eyes and knows immediately that she spent the day with Karamo, but before he can offer up any words of comfort or humor to cheer her up, Klaus puts his arm around her shoulders, presses a kiss to the top of her head.

“It’s a doozy, huh?” Tan hears Klaus murmuring. Vanya huffs out a soft laugh and puts down her bowl of stew to wrap her arms around Klaus’ ribs.

“Just wait for your turn,” she says. Klaus groans and glares in Karamo’s direction.

“Who’s he got tomorrow?” Tan asks, taking his place on Vanya’s other side. Vanya says nothing, but nods toward Diego, who’s grilling Antoni about who cooked the stew. Klaus lets out a mournful little sigh.

“Mommy issues _and_ Daddy issues,” he mutters. 

“No way, I’m not eating anything Luther had a hand in cooking,” Diego says loudly. Antoni looks extremely unimpressed.

“Inferiority complex,” Klaus and Vanya add quietly.

“Not to be rude,” Tan says, concerned and nosy, “but doesn’t that apply to all of you?”

“You really think I’d let Luther screw up the first real homecooked meal I’ve had in forty-five years?” Five asks, sneering up into Diego’s face. Tan gives a low hum and rolls his eyes at Klaus and Vanya.

“A few of us may have gone the other way,” Vanya says with a begrudging smile.

“Klaus! I get you and Diego to myself tomorrow,” Jonathan exclaims in a singsong sort of whine. Klaus turns a criminally charming smile toward Jonathan, his hand flying up to tangle in his hair. Tan watches as Jonathan tilts his head and twirls a few of Klaus’ curls around his own fingers, an admiring look in his eyes. A few feet away, Diego grabs a butter knife out of Luther's hand and stabs the table with it before wordlessly, angrily filling his bowl with stew. Antoni, helpless, catches Tan's eyes, and Tan sighs.

“Good luck, Jonny,” he says, clapping Jonathan on the shoulder as he pushes away from the counter. “They're a handful.” Jonathan says, uncharacteristically, nothing, and Tan glances back in alarm to see him evidently lost in Klaus’ eyes.

“Yeah, that's exactly what I mean,” Tan mutters to himself as he reaches Antoni, placing his hands firmly on Antoni's hips and squeezing slightly just to see Antoni's crooked grin. 

\---

Generally speaking, it’s not precisely how Klaus would normally want to spend a morning with a tall gay man who has an affinity for heels. He knows exactly how pathetic he sounds as he tells Jonathan that he doesn’t use any products on his face or hair because he doesn’t _own_ any.

“Skincare and conditioner and all that,” he says, with a bold smile and a dismissive wave of his hand, “is for people with, like, home bases and stability. Historically I’ve been more of a, you know, crash on somebody’s couch for a few nights and use their sunscreen before leaving, spend a week in a shelter and steal those little hotel shampoos from the donations closet to sell outside the door, vodka is my mouthwash and molly is my deodorant kind of guy.” He leans against the bathroom wall and rubs at the knob of his wrist, like if he pretends it hurts then that can be his excuse for not finishing out his explanation still holding onto the smile.

“So I’ve heard,” Jonathan says brightly. He’s so dazzling even in this horribly cold bathroom lighting that Klaus has to look away from him. “Don’t you have a home base now though?” Klaus blinks and glances around the room, his eyes flickering toward the open door. Diego is down the hall, in his old bedroom, talking to Karamo, and Klaus bites his lip.

“I guess I should stay here,” he says.

“Oh, honey, you sound so defeated,” says Jonathan. 

“It’s just that I don’t really have anywhere else to go,” Klaus explains with a shrug.

“Okay, well, we can work with that,” Jonathan assures him, moving closer. He runs his fingers through Klaus’ hair and Klaus finds himself closing his eyes and leaning deeply into the touch, praying that Jonathan won’t pull his hand away.

“Thank you,” Klaus breathes, letting his head drop to the side. Jonathan clicks his tongue.

“Oh, sweetie,” he says sadly. “Your hair is absolutely gorgeous, so I’m not going to change your style, but I will give you a good shampoo, okay?”

“Okay,” Klaus murmurs.

“When is the last time you were, like, touched with care?” Jonathan asks. Klaus swallows. He isn’t aware of his hand going to the chain around his neck, but suddenly he feels the edges of Dave’s dog tags cutting into his palm.

“I, uh, I don’t really--” He clears his throat. Jonathan’s fingers go to thread through the hair at the back of Klaus’ head, massaging gently down to the base of his skull. Klaus takes a breath. “Time has sort of gotten away from us around here,” he says.

“But it was Dave?” Jonathan asks. Klaus opens his eyes finally, lifts his head a little.

“Tan told you,” he says. Jonathan gives him a look. Klaus smiles and smooths his thumb over the engravings in his hand. “Yeah, it was Dave. He was kind and strong and gentle….”

“You can just say he was a top,” Jonathan whispers. Klaus laughs openly. 

“Yeah,” he says, a hint of a suggestive smile still on his lips. “And his hands were so….” Klaus drops the dog tags to caress his own face the way Dave did.

“Listen, hunny, we can talk about gorgeous men’s hands all day,” Jonathan says, raising his eyebrows. Klaus hums another laugh.

“You should’ve seen the way he handled a rifle,” he says, unable to keep a note of pride and arousal in his voice. “I used to tell him that I only wanted to sleep with him after I saw him disassemble and reassemble a gun, ‘cause that’s when I knew he’d be good with his hands.” Jonathan grins and tugs on a curl behind Klaus’ ear before finally moving his hand from Klaus’ hair, taking Klaus’ hand between both of his and squeezing.

“I’ve got a spa day planned for you, my little curly queer,” Jonathan says. Klaus smiles again. “You and Diego, before I get my hands in your beautiful hair. Massages, mani-pedis, facials - the whole shebang, okay? I’ll tell them all to be gentle with you because you deserve it.” Klaus hums appreciatively. He glances at the open door again. A light in the hallway seems to be flickering.

“Tell them to be gentle with Diego, too,” he says. “I don’t think he gets much of that.”

“You two are so sweet with each other,” Jonathan says happily, releasing Klaus’ hand and putting his own over his heart. Klaus snorts.

“He’s the only one who hated Dad as much as I did when we were growing up,” he says. Jonathan makes a disgusted noise.

“I talked to Five about _Sir Reginald_ yesterday,” he says with a frown. “What! An! Asshole!”

“World’s worst father,” Klaus says. He shrugs.

“But now he’s dead, so that’s a plus,” Jonathan says cheerfully, holding up his hand.

“Best thing that’s happened to me since I left home,” Klaus agrees as he high fives Jonathan.

“Klaus, Jonathan, are you ready to go?” Diego asks, appearing in the doorway looking extremely grumpy.

“No knives today?” Jonathan says. Diego crosses his arms over his chest, which is alarmingly free of the usual harness full of blades, and scowls.

“Karamo says I’m not allowed to use knives as a shield,” he says, unamused, jaw clenched. A giggle of discomfort escapes Klaus’ throat. “He said he’ll give them back to me at the end of the week.”

“You let him _take_ them?” Klaus says, his eyes widening.

“There was...some resistance,” Diego says, looking away.

“Mmmm. I thought I heard a scuffle,” says Jonathan. Klaus catches it as Jonathan gives Diego a hungry sort of look, up and down and up again, and feels a shock of amusement low in his belly. He casts his own eyes down to Diego’s thighs.

“Missed one,” he says, knowing full well that Diego intended it that way, and takes the two steps toward him before bending over to reach for the knife between Diego’s legs.

“Don’t--” Diego starts, his hand darting downward, but Klaus learned how fast he should move around Diego when they were children. He’s already unsheathed the dagger and is holding it up in front of his face, admiring the way the light glints off the sharp point and the smooth edge. Diego’s expression comes into sudden focus on the other side of the knife, eyes narrowed, one corner of his mouth quirked dangerously upward. The amusement in Klaus’ belly uncurls into something like possessiveness and he gets the unfamiliar but unmistakable urge to lick the blade. He opens his mouth - to say something? Christ, he hopes so, hopes he wasn't about to actually stick out his tongue and press it against the metal - but Karamo appears behind Diego just in time.

“Did I hear something about another knife?” he says. Klaus blinks, shuts his mouth, and hands the weapon over, placing it into Karamo’s outstretched hand and ignoring Diego’s full-body twitch. Klaus smiles innocently at Karamo, who raises an eyebrow and looks between him and Diego a few times before meeting Jonathan’s eyes.

“Yeah,” Jonathan says, drawing it out like an admonishment. Klaus turns to look at him over his shoulder.

“Hmm?”

“Oh, perfect, you're still here,” comes another voice. Klaus turns away from Jonathan to see Bobby standing next to Karamo, his hands full of paint samples. Klaus points to himself and raises his eyebrows. “Yeah, you,” Bobby says. He bites his lip. “Your bedroom, uh, the walls….”

“Oh, that's just what the dead say to me,” Klaus says. Karamo and Bobby blink at him. Diego looks down at the floor.

“I was hoping you wouldn't say that,” Bobby mutters.

“You can paint over it,” Klaus says with a shrug. “I started writing it down on the walls when I was, oh, fourteen or so. I thought if I could prove that I hear them and listen to them, they'd leave me alone.” He shrugs. “Hasn't been the case, though, so it doesn't matter.” Bobby frowns, but Klaus doesn't understand why. He's trying to be as accommodating as possible. 

“Hmm. Okay,” Bobby says slowly. “Are you, like, attached to any particular design aesthetic?” Klaus shrugs again, and almost laughs.

“You can do whatever you want,” he says. “I’m good with anything.”

“He likes greens,” Diego says, shifting to lean against the door jamb. “Don't you?” he asks Klaus, finally lifting his gaze. “You always wanted to repaint your room more like mine but Dad wouldn't let you.”

“Oh, yeah, I forgot about that,” Klaus says distantly. He must have had half a dozen arguments with their father over the color of his bedroom walls before he ever started writing on them.

“Greens, okay,” Bobby says, nodding. He still seems unhappy for some reason. He's got a searching look in his eyes that makes Klaus feel caught, somehow, which is an uncomfortable mystery until he speaks again. “Are you able to sleep in your room, Klaus?”

“Ha,” Klaus says. Diego gives him a sharp look. “You've read the walls. Of course I can't.”

“Jesus, Klaus, why didn't you tell me?” Diego says. 

“You don't have to be responsible for me,” Klaus says, biting at his thumbnail.

“I want you to fucking sleep, bro,” Diego says. “Stay at my place.”

“And sleep on the floor of a boxing gym’s boiler room?” Klaus rolls his eyes. “No, thanks, I’ve already risked hepatitis enough in my lifetime.”

“What?” Bobby says, clipped and low.

“Take the bed.”

“Diego, do you live in the boiler room of a boxing gym?” Bobby asks.

“You don’t have a shower, Diego,” Klaus says.

“I have eight showers,” Diego says stubbornly. 

“Oh my god, you live in the boiler room of a boxing gym,” Bobby says in a horrified whisper.

“Or a stove!” Klaus exclaims, throwing his arms up. “The last thing you need is your ex-junkie brother for a roommate.”

“Oh, no, honey,” Jonathan says from behind him. Klaus sighs and drops his shoulders.

“Klaus, it's--” Diego begins, but whatever it is gets cut off by Five wandering by in the hall and not even pausing to fully take in the scene before commenting.

“Are you two replacing Tan and Antoni already?” he asks, sparing the briefest glance at Diego and Klaus as he passes the bathroom. “I'm sure you weren't their first choices, but congratulations nonetheless.”

“You know, that counts as a microaggression,” Klaus says.

“ _You_ should take it as a compliment,” Five says. 

“Oh, I do!” Klaus replies, raising his voice to be sure Five has to hear every obnoxious word. “Implying that I have my life together _half_ as much as Tan France - this is just about the nicest you've ever been to me!”

“What the hell are you talking about? You're the Antoni,” Diego says, and as Klaus gives him a confused look, he abruptly reaches back to snatch the knife from Karamo's hand before throwing it in a flash down the hall after Five. Jonathan nearly shoves Klaus out of the way as he lunges out into the hall to watch the smooth arc of the dagger twist suddenly, nailing its target. Five spins around, examining the torn sleeve of his Academy uniform blazer. He looks up at Diego, annoyed.

“You missed,” he says with an ugly sneer.

“If he wanted you dead, you'd be dead,” Jonathan says breathlessly. Klaus glances back to see him standing there pink-cheeked and flustered, Karamo's steady hand holding him upright.

“Tan's gonna get you a whole new wardrobe anyway,” Diego says, narrowing his eyes, practically begging for a challenge to arise. Five simply shakes his head and, with a roll of his eyes that honestly seems more affectionate than anything else, blinks away.

“I can't be the Antoni, Diego,” says Klaus, “because you're the one who can cook.” Diego sighs.

Klaus feels boneless after his massage, pampered to hell after the facial and pedicure. He’s still blowing softly on his freshly painted fingernails - olive green - when he takes the salon seat next to Diego, who chose to forego the nail polish and has just returned from the shampoo station. Klaus is happy to see that Diego looks like he feels pretty boneless, too, if the uncharacteristically dopey smile he gives to Klaus is any indication.

“Feelin’ good?” Klaus asks, mostly because he wants Diego to admit it out loud. Diego’s eyelids flutter shut before he can answer as Jonathan buries his hands in his hair, scratching slightly at his scalp. Klaus grins knowingly up at Jonathan, who smirks back and shrugs, a funny sort of _I couldn’t resist_ expression on his face. When Diego’s eyes open again, his pupils are larger than usual, his mouth just a little bit slack.

“Remember the weed during the Midnight Movies in the Park?” he asks. Klaus snorts. He'd long since moved onto heavier stuff by then, but.

“More or less, yeah,” he answers. Diego nods and smiles.

“‘m feeling like that right now,” he says.

“That’s called relaxation, dearest Diego,” Jonathan says, widening his eyes significantly, like he's teaching something novel to a baby.

“You know, I've heard of it,” Diego says in a wondrous tone. “May have even experienced it a few times.”

“On your own? I call bullshit,” Klaus scoffs. Diego says nothing but ducks his head, and Klaus breathes out a smug laugh. “Ohhh, you're talking about the relaxation you get after _really_ good sex. Why didn't you just say so?” Jonathan stops untwisting the hair dryer cord and looks at Klaus with hyperfocus. Klaus looks back, puzzled, as he maneuvers in his chair until he's got one leg hanging over the arm, the other foot tucked under him. 

“Definitely experienced _that_ a few times,” Diego mumbles as Jonathan approaches him with the dryer and a hairbrush.

“Listen, boys, I would _love_ to sit here and talk about good sex all day - with you, without you, about you, whatever,” Jonathan says emphatically, waving the brush around as he speaks, “but something tells me our editors won’t appreciate having to cut my entire segment with you two, so let’s circle back to this topic when the cameras aren’t around.”

“What cameras?” Klaus asks, swiveling around in the chair. Jonathan pauses to swivel himself, his eyes narrow and his expression confused.

“Huh,” he says after a few long moments. “The strangest things have been happening with our technology since we got here, I swear.” He flips his hair over his shoulder when he turns back around to face Klaus and Diego's reflections in the mirrors. “Welllll,” he drawls in a silly voice, “Fuck it! Let's talk about sex, babies!” 

But then he turns on the hair dryer, so the conversation becomes thoroughly stop-and-go, and half the time it's about Diego's hair and skincare routine. Klaus finally learns how Diego got that long scar above his ear, though, while Jonathan turns his focus onto the fade - “Bar fight six years ago. Asshole spent the whole night trying to goad me into it. Only worked when he started talking shit about Ben, but by then I was too drunk to be as coordinated as I should be, and then he said some shit about Klaus, too…and now I don't ever have more than one drink.” 

Jonathan pauses his delicate work around the scar and puts his hand over his heart. Klaus feels like doing that himself, feels like doing something more drastic even, but he glances to the chair to his left and sees Ben looking up from a magazine, one judgmental eyebrow raised as if he _knows_ , and changes course.

It works out anyway, because he can't complain about any excuse to pretend to swoon and bat his eyelashes at Diego, call him his hero, and hear Jonathan jump in eagerly with heaps upon heaps of praise. Diego's skin pinks a little under the barrage of sincere, creative compliments, but he gets that small, adorable, quiet smile on his face, the one Klaus has only ever seen Diego wear around an exclusive selection of people - pretty women with dark hair and secrets in their eyes, cute guys who flirt with him first, and Klaus himself - and really, doesn't just the sight of that make this whole day worth it? Klaus thinks so.

True to his word, Jonathan doesn't change Klaus’ style, just gives it a good wash and condition and what he refers to as “the _trimmiest_ of trims.” He gives Klaus the best shave of his life and death, too, and if Klaus cracks open his right eye just a sliver, he gets to see Diego staring at him with an unnerving intensity, blinking slowly, hand resting on his inner thigh where Klaus stole a knife away several hours ago. Klaus resolutely does not open his left eye.

The three of them return to the Academy not looking any different, really - Jonathan was sweet enough to even reapply black liner around Klaus’ eyes - but _feeling_ better, which apparently shows, because when they walk into the kitchen, Allison looks up from the table and leans back, an impressed expression on her face.

“Good work, Jonathan,” she says.

“Wow, you guys look so _relaxed_ ,” Antoni says, putting his arm low around Jonathan's back when he bounds over for a hug. “How do you feel, Diego?”

“Really damn good,” Diego answers, his eyes surveying the room. Klaus knows he's itching for a knife, just to fidget with for a minute while he gets his bearings, makes sense of Allison and Vanya sitting at the table with Antoni, various pastries on seemingly all other available surfaces, applying frosting to a few of the dozens of cupcakes surrounding them. Diego flexes his fingers into a fist and then out of one, rubs absentmindedly at his knuckles before finally sitting down in an empty seat across from Allison and reaching for his own unfrosted cupcake.

“Good day, V?” Klaus asks as he takes a seat across from her, between Diego and another empty chair. He makes a grab for the cupcake Diego just chose, unwraps it with a deftness that impresses even him, and shoves the entire thing into his mouth.

“Hey!” Diego says, his hand clutching a frosting bag. Vanya grins.

“Really damn good,” she says. “How are the cupcakes?”

“Delicious,” Klaus says gleefully, although it comes out garbled, crumbs and all.

“Did you just fit the whole cupcake in your mouth?” Antoni asks, eyes wide. He turns to look up at Jonathan. “Why isn't Klaus any of our favorites? He clearly has...relevant skills.” Klaus manages to cover his mouth before he lets out a laugh.

“Oh, trust me, hunny, after the salon conversation we had today, I know all about his relevant skills,” Jonathan says. He moves to sit in the chair between Antoni and Klaus just as Klaus is placing a cupcake and a bag of frosting on the table in front of it.

“Don't sit on Ben!” Klaus says, mouth finally free of cupcake. Jonathan jerks away instantly, apologizing profusely, and drops instead into a chair on the other side of Antoni. Ben gives Klaus a rare look of gratitude. “Don't mention it,” Klaus tells him.

“I didn't,” Ben says. Klaus rolls his eyes.

“Did you guys spend all day baking?” Diego asks, gesturing around the kitchen with one hand and reaching for another cupcake with the other.

“Some of those we just brought home from the bakery,” Vanya explains, “but yeah. I'd forgotten we used to bake with Mom all the time when we were really little.”

“You baked with her?” Diego says. It almost sounds accusing. Klaus bites at his thumbnail. “Did you ever bake with her?” Diego asks him. He shakes his head.

“No need to get weird about it,” Allison says, not unkindly. “You're the one she taught how to cook.”

“You know how to cook?” Antoni’s face lights up.

“Lot of good that does me without a stove,” Diego says. Antoni blinks.

“You don't have a stove?”

“Oh, you missed the big reveal this morning,” Jonathan says delightedly, licking pink frosting from a spoon. “My favorite boy lives in the boiler room of a boxing gym.” Antoni’s jaw drops.

“And Luther didn't know you were bi?” he says, amazed.

“Luther's an idiot,” Diego says.

“Hey,” says Allison. Diego rolls his eyes and opens his mouth, and Klaus knows exactly the kind of thing he's about to say, exactly the kind of confrontation it will start, and it's been such a good day. He knocks his knee against Diego's thigh, shakes his head when Diego looks at him questioningly. Relief washes through him when Diego closes his mouth after a few moments.

“We figured it would be fun for everyone to decorate their own cupcakes,” Vanya says into the tension. Klaus smiles. He likes her. He never knew before how much.

“Our own dozen of cupcakes, you mean,” he says, throwing his arms out in a sweeping gesture over the table. Vanya grins at him and takes a bite of her freshly decorated cupcake, nodding vigorously enough for bright blue frosting to end up on the tip of her nose. Klaus laughs.

“What if we like them better naked?” Klaus asks, but he picks up several frosting bags anyway and gets to work. 

He used to be good with a pencil, used to leave sketches around in his siblings’ bedrooms that they'd actually pin up to their walls or keep safely between the pages of a journal hidden under their beds, but a frosting bag nib is not a pencil, and a cupcake is not a piece of paper, and anyway it wouldn't matter, probably, because these days his sober hands tremble too much to maintain steady coordination. Still, he's impressed at what he does manage: a fair sunset over an ocean horizon, a little orange bottle of pills, a surprisingly recognizable rendition of Mom in that pink polka dot dress he loved so much as a kid, an admittedly basic tombstone, Diego’s little vigilante eye mask, an octopus. 

It's only when he hands over one specially made for Jonathan - a hair dryer and scissors, alarmingly detailed for the space - that he realizes he's been zoned out for almost an hour. Ben has vacated the chair beside him in favor of the one closer to the window where there's more light for him to read by, so Klaus kicks the empty chair out and stretches his legs, propping up one foot. 

“Did Ben move?” Antoni asks. Klaus looks up to see him standing nearby, an unsaid question in his eyes.

“All yours,” Klaus says, dropping his foot. Antoni sits, brings the chair a smidge closer to Klaus.

“Can I talk to you a little?” he says. “I was going to wait to bring this up until we had some alone time together, but--” He looks around the table, where Diego, Allison, and Vanya are still in various states of cupcake decorating chaos and looking tentatively over at Antoni and Klaus. Antoni shrugs. “I dunno. I think it’ll be good to talk about it with these siblings in particular. You seem most comfortable with them.” 

“I'm comfortable with whoever,” Klaus says, which is an absolute lie. It stings his throat and he shakes his head immediately. “No, you're right.”

“How long have you been sober?” Antoni asks softly. He's sitting sideways in the chair, his entire body turned toward Klaus, giving him his full focus. Klaus is facing away from him, toward the table as ever, and staring at his open palm as he traces the _HELLO_ with purple frosting.

“God, like, as soon as maybe three months ago I would've done _anything_ for this kind of undivided attention from someone who looked like you,” Klaus mutters. “I mean, _anything_.” He puts down the frosting bag as he turns his head to look at Antoni, who has, at least, gone pink in the cheeks. “I don't know. I was telling Jonathan earlier - time has gotten away from us around here. But it's felt like….centuries.”

“Longer than you've ever been sober before?” Antoni asks. Klaus laughs.

“Sometimes I checked into rehab just for the 30-day chip,” he says. “There's a black market for them, you know.”

“Drug money,” Antoni says, nodding. Klaus runs his finger through the frosting on his hand until the _H_ is just black and inked again. He licks his finger clean for a moment and sighs.

“I suppose you want the whole story,” he says. Antoni shrugs.

“An abbreviated version would be acceptable.”

“I was twelve years old the first time I got high,” Klaus says. “Pills. I broke my jaw running down the stairs in Mom's high heels and soon learned that I didn't see or hear the ghosts if I wasn't sober.”

“You see the dead all the time?” Jonathan asks, looking appalled. “I mean, like - sorry to interrupt, but - you don’t have to try to conjure them or anything?”

“Sometimes if I want to see a specific person, I have to focus, yada yada, et cetera,” Klaus says with a dismissive wave of his frosting-free hand. “Of course, I haven’t been able to talk to the _one_ person I _really_ want to see but--” He flings his arms out, palms facing the table, waving both his hands. “Otherwise I’m a walking, talking ouija board, baby! Ta-daaaaa!” He drops his arms to the table, smashing frosting all over the surface, and rolls his eyes at himself with a defeated sigh. “All of you would be addicts, too, if you had corpses following you around everywhere.”

“Was it always like that?” Vanya asks. Klaus jumps at her voice. “Sorry, I mean - sorry to interrupt, too, but - Dad kept us so isolated. Or--well, me, at least, so I don’t know--”

“It was all of us, at first,” Diego says bitterly. He takes the cloth napkin Allison is holding out across the table. 

“It wasn’t always this bad, no,” Klaus says to Vanya. Diego grabs Klaus’ wrist and begins to forcefully clean the frosting from his hand. Klaus winces.

“Did something happen?” Vanya asks. Her tone is unsure but her eyes are full of concern and compassion. Not for the first time, Klaus wonders what else he missed growing up, believing she wasn't special. 

“Well, I guess it got measurably worse when Dad started locking me in a mausoleum overnight,” he says, as casually as he can muster. Diego's grip on his wrist tightens.

“ _What?!_ ” exclaims Allison. She looks sharply at Diego. “Did you know about this?”

“No,” Diego says, not taking his eyes off Klaus. “Jesus, Klaus, why didn't you tell anyone?”

“What could you have done?” Klaus says with a resigned shrug. He glances at Diego and shakes his head. “You did enough for me without knowing the worst of it anyway.”

“But I c-could've-- _we_ could've--” Diego stammers. Klaus flicks the napkin aside and tangles their fingers together, looks down at their hands.

“It's okay,” he says. “It's not your fault I'm a mess.”

“Can I ask--” Antoni begins, and Klaus jumps again. He almost forgot Antoni and Jonathan were still here, but they are, crowded at the table by cupcakes and looking completely horrified. “Do you feel like you get enough support from your family to stay sober?”

Klaus stares at Antoni. Everyone else stares at Klaus. 

Klaus laughs.

“I'm not sure I deserve anything more than I'm getting,” he says after a torturously long moment. He moves his hand limply from Diego's.

“When I was going through my recovery, I know it was really hard to love myself and understand any sense of real self-worth,” Antoni says sagely.

“Yeah, I don't have that problem,” Klaus says. Antoni furrows his beautiful brow. Klaus sighs. “I love myself. I do. I'm fully aware of my worth as a human being. I know the root cause of all of this--” he gestures wildly to himself, his whole body, “--is from my dad's abuse. I know I didn't deserve to be treated like that. None of us did.” He clears his throat. “We were just little kids.”

“But you don't think you deserve help from your siblings _now_?” Jonathan asks. 

“There's a difference between loving yourself and liking yourself, you know,” Klaus says. He’s starting to feel irritated. This has been such a good day. “I mean, no, I don’t feel like I get--Diego and Vanya are the only ones who take me seriously at all. Luther and Five don’t even believe I’ve really been sober, or if they do, they’ve made it _quite_ clear they’re just waiting for the inevitable, for me to fall off the wagon and disappear again.”

“What about me?” Allison says. Klaus turns his head to meet her eyes, hesitating.

“I’m a joke to you. You think I’m funny,” he says finally. She narrows her eyes in confusion.

“I don’t think _this_ is funny,” she says. Her tone is stern in the same way Luther’s always is, and Klaus is just annoyed enough to bite back at her about it when she adds, in a pleading voice, “Let me help you.” Then he mostly just feels shitty. He frowns, clenches his jaw. It’s been such a good day, but he’s spent the last...however long fighting the entirety of his wide variety of urges. He’s weakened. He’s _tired_.

“No offense, sis,” he says lowly, “but the last time I asked you for help, you slammed your Beverly Hills mansion door in my face.”

“I was pregnant and you were high,” Allison grits out. “I’d already told you I wouldn’t--”

“Keep funding my rehab attempts, yeah, I know. It wasn’t just about rehab, though, was it?” Klaus says, rolling his eyes. She was right to tell him to leave, back then, and even now he doesn’t actually blame her. But it’s easier, in this sharp-edged moment, to redirect his frustration with himself into irrational anger at Allison, even though he knows it’s obvious to Antoni and Jonathan that’s what he’s doing. It feels like a vacation. 

“Did you know Vanya visited me when I was in prison? Diego kept my commissary account full. Radio silence from Luther, as expected, but you? I guess the risk of the tabloids finding out superstar Allison Hargreeves had a brother in prison was too great for you to even write me a letter,” he says loftily.

“Oh, so you could sell my autograph for more drug money?” says Allison angrily. She’s got her hands flat on the table, the ever tell-tale sign that she’s ready to spring up for a fight. From the corner of his eye, Klaus sees Diego slowly flatten his own in front of him, fingers twitching a little like he wishes he had his knives handy. Klaus feels his ire draining swiftly, replaced once again by solid, heavy dislike of himself. “Like you did _every time_ you crashed at my house in LA? Almost like that was the only reason you ever visited me to begin with?”

“This is the kind of thing I’m talking about,” Klaus says, turning to Antoni again. “Knowing I deserved better than what my dad did to me doesn’t change all the awful shit I did to my brothers and sisters. I’m responsible for my own actions. If I learned one thing from the dozen rounds of both court-ordered and reluctant but voluntary rehab, it’s that. Dad’s dead and now it’s just us. There’s no one to blame _me_ on but me. So to answer your question, darling Antoni, _no_ , I don’t, but it doesn’t matter, because I’m not their responsibility.”

“Klaus--” Antoni starts, shaking his head, but Vanya cuts in.

“We _want_ to help you,” she says earnestly. “We-- _I_ \--want you to be sober and healthy and--” She pauses, looks down at the table like she’s self-conscious about what she was going to say, but when she looks up again, there’s a sincerity in her eyes that Klaus would never cross. “ _Happy._ ” She rolls her eyes at him. “It’s not like I visited you in prison because we were so close, you know? We weren’t exactly friends. I just thought--a familiar face...Klaus, you’re my brother. Everything being what it is, or what it was, we’re still family.”

“Burdensome obligation,” Klaus says in a whisper. It’s all very tragic and dramatic and not even on purpose, which is the infuriating thing. “I appreciate it, but no, thanks. I carefully cultivated my lifestyle so nobody would worry about me. I’m--”

“You’re an idiot,” Diego says fiercely. Klaus looks at him, sees his jaw set, his eyes stony. “I worried about you all the damn time. Everyone at this table did. I dropped everything every time I heard a call on the police radio about a dead junkie because I thought it might be you and I wanted to get there first. Whenever you fell off the grid for more than four months I called Allison so she could hire private investigators to track you down just so we knew you were alive. Do you know what it took for me to keep calling _Allison_? A _lot_. There’s no obligation strong enough--and Mom always reminded me to refill your account so you could eat when you were locked up. She knew you were a goddamn picky eater - she wanted to make sure you had money for snacks and she didn’t want me to forget to call it in. We all did that for _you_ \--” he points at Klaus, pokes him painfully hard in the shoulder, “--because we _love_ you.”

“Ow,” Klaus mutters, rolling his shoulder, not quite meeting Diego’s eyes.

“Now you’re back among us and sober - what do you think I’ve wanted for the past ten years?” Diego says. He jabs Klaus’ shoulder again.

“ _Ow!_ ”

“Look at me, dumbass.” Klaus sighs and looks up. Diego’s eyes have softened, although his jaw remains clenched. “I can’t be-- _we_ can’t be-- _do_ \--what you need if you don’t tell us what you need. You have to talk to us, bro. We can’t be there for you if you don’t let us.”

Across the room, from a chair by the window, Ben says softly, “He’s right, you know.” Klaus keeps his eyes on Diego, holds his steady gaze, and nods.

“Okay,” he says, like this was easy. He glances around at Allison and Vanya, even spares a look for Ben. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Antoni asks. Klaus turns to see him with a hopeful expression on his face, a smile just this side of smug playing on his lips. Klaus lets his gaze drop to Antoni’s mouth, just to see him blush. He understands clearly why Tan is sleeping with him. 

“Okay,” Klaus confirms. He looks up to meet Antoni’s eyes again and gives him a slow smile. “Christ on a cracker, you’re pretty. Do you ever wear eyeliner? Because I think I would just….” He makes a great show of swooning, dramatically throwing back his head and closing his eyes as he delicately presses the back of his hand to his forehead like a Victorian woman on a fainting couch. There's laughter, which makes him feel _deeply_ satisfied, and then there's footsteps, and then there's Five's deadpan voice from behind him.

“Well, shit. Shall I fetch the smelling salts?” Klaus springs back to action, twisting around to grin at Five.

“Good day?” Allison asks as the rest of the Fab Five and Luther enter the kitchen behind Five. Tan makes a beeline for Antoni's lap, which he immediately takes to using as a chair, wrapping his arms around Antoni’s shoulders but otherwise paying him no attention whatsoever. Klaus meets Tan's eyes and gives him an innocent smile. Tan frowns vehemently, but Klaus can tell by his eyes that he's amused.

“I spent most of the morning watching Tan and Karamo talk Luther through his myriad of body image issues, so you can imagine how much I enjoyed that,” Five is saying when Klaus tunes back in to the conversation. “But then Bobby asked a favor of me that required me to leave with him and commit a petty crime, which took up the whole afternoon.”

“To everything, a balance,” Jonathan says wisely.

“What _petty crime_?” Allison’s eyes are wide with alarm. 

“Precisely,” Five nods to Jonathan, and then, “Breaking and entering.”

“Is that not a felony?” Antoni asks, taking a bite of a cupcake. 

“Only if they can prove there's intent to commit a felony when you do it,” Klaus rushes to answer.

“And we did not steal anything!” Bobby says, hands up in guilty surrender. “Nor did we intend to! Thank you very much. I just wanted to--” He waves his hands in graceful shapes through the air, clearly stalling, “--check out the situation.”

“What situation?” Luther asks.

“Diego's living situation,” Five says, when Bobby hesitates too long for his liking.

“Why?” Diego’s tone is low, his jaw set and one eyebrow arched dangerously.

“Because,” Bobby says with a sigh, “I think Klaus should move out of this nightmare mansion--”

“Agreed,” Jonathan and Antoni say.

“--and move _in_ with _you_.” Bobby nods once, as if the matter is settled, and picks up a cupcake. 

“That’s not a bad idea, actually,” Five says, considering, into the resulting silence. Klaus looks at him in shock and he shrugs. “It’s obvious that you’re unhappy staying here. I imagine it’s not conducive to your attempt at long-term sobriety. You need a different environment and, believe it or not, Diego needs company. This would be mutually beneficial, Klaus.”

“Yeah, I’m in,” Diego says. Klaus turns to him, astonished to see sincerity in his expression. Diego looks back at him with raised eyebrows. Klaus feels a clench in his chest at the sight of Diego biting his lip, like he’s suddenly worried about what Klaus thinks. “What, do you not want to live with me?”

“Diego, I can’t put you out like that,” Klaus says quietly. “You have a life! You made a whole life for yourself--”

“Did you not fucking hear me a few minutes ago?” Diego says, annoyed but affectionate, the way he always is with Klaus. “I want to help you. What kind of life do I have if I can’t do that?” Jonathan gasps and presses his hand over his heart. Diego’s eyes flicker up but he manages, just barely, to keep from rolling them. “Anyway, you already said you’d let us be there for you, so it’s my decision, okay? You’re with me.”

“Okay,” Klaus says. He swallows over a stinging in his throat, rubbing at his neck with his _GOODBYE_ palm. “Yeah, okay. I’m with you.”

“I already talked to your landlord,” Bobby says to Diego. “He’s thrilled he won’t have to pay for anything, so you’ll be getting a stove and a bathroom and some closet space, and of course you’ll have your own bed, Klaus.”

“You can do all that in a space that small?” Luther asks around a mouthful of danish he found on the counter by the sink.

“Bobby can do _anything_ , Luther, how _dare_ you?” Jonathan exclaims. Diego gives Luther a pointed, satisfied look.

“All of you will need to sleep at the hotel we’ve booked for you starting tonight,” Bobby declares. “Except Vanya - I'm working on a room for you here like we talked about - but there's a room for you at the hotel still if you want--”

“Yeah, I want,” Vanya says, and looks at Allison with a smile.

“Sleepover!” Allison all but shouts. “Bring sweatpants.”

“We should probably have real food sometime tonight, right?” Antoni says, patting Tan on the thigh. “Who's going to help me cook real dinner?”

“I will!” Tan says excitedly, jumping up from Antoni's lap.

“Big surprise,” Diego mutters. Klaus stifles a giggle.

“Five, have a cupcake!” Jonathan says, gesturing with widespread arms to the smorgasbord on the table.

“I'm not really into desserts,” Five says with a frown.

“I thought you might say that. Bad Twinkie in the apocalypse, right?” says Vanya. Five blinks at her like he's surprised for a few moments before nodding silently. She smiles. “That's why I made sure we baked fresh bread, too! Antoni, can you--yeah, thanks.” Antoni rushes over to the counter where he produces a loaf of bread from behind the danishes and presents it with a flourish.

“Vanya said something about the peanut butter and marshmallow sandwiches of your youth,” he says delightedly. “Sounds nostalgic! And disgusting!”

“Hey, it was good!” comes the defensive chorus of all the Hargreeves children, even Ben.

\---

Vanya wakes up to loud knocking on the door and enthusiastic voices muffled on the other side. She sits up, terribly confused, and only remembers that she's in a hotel when she looks to her right and sees Allison starfished across the other side of the bed, limbs tangled in the sheets, one leg of her sweatpants bunched up around her knee. Vanya stumbles out of bed and opens the door, stares bleary-eyed at Tan and Jonathan, both wide awake and fully dressed and evidently delighted to see her in her long sleep shirt.

“Good morning, love,” Tan says warmly as Jonathan shrieks, “Good _morniiiing_!” Vanya blinks at them.

“Hi,” she says. Behind her, she hears Allison stirring. “We're starting early today, huh?”

“JVN and I wanted to sneak you out to breakfast before anyone else could get to you,” Tan says with a soft smile.

“And we can help you get ready, beautiful,” Jonathan says brightly. “Can we come in?”

“Um.” Vanya glances behind her to see Allison disappearing into the bathroom. “Yeah, sure,” she says, moving aside to allow them into the room and letting the door fall shut. Tan instantly goes to her suitcase and throws it open to begin picking through her clothes. Jonathan spins around and runs his hands down over her hair, his eyes scanning her face.

“Do you even know just how gorgeous you are?” he asks. Vanya finds it hard to maintain eye contact with him.

“Um,” she says again, unsure. She looks beyond him then to see Allison coming out of the bathroom, and she thinks something must show in some sort of microexpression that she can't control, because Jonathan’s mouth twitches to the side and he makes a tiny, sad hum.

“Oh my god, are we doing hair and clothes today?” Allison asks excitedly, clapping her hands. Her face is alight with eager anticipation. 

“Well, _we_ are,” Tan says, one of Vanya's favorite shirts hanging limply in his hands. “Karamo has reserved today for you.”

“Oh, yay!” Allison exclaims.

“And Luther,” adds Jonathan, deadpan, giving Tan a knowing look.

“Oh.” Allison's smile falls.

“Yeah,” Jonathan says. He makes a face at Vanya, who bites back a smile and shrugs.

“Uh, let me just get dressed, and brush my teeth, and then we can go to breakfast,” she says. Tan holds out the shirt for her to take and sits gingerly on the foot of the bed, crossing his ankles. It makes for a very dignified picture until Jonathan literally jumps into Tan's lap and sends both of them tumbling backward. Vanya is laughing as she walks into the bathroom to get ready, and when she walks back out, Jonathan is stretched out on his front along her bed, kicking his legs up and down as he stares pointedly over at Allison, his chin resting on his knuckles.

“Here, let's ask Vanya,” Tan says, smacking at Jonathan's ass.

“Vanya!” Jonathan says. “Do _you_ think Diego and Klaus are--”

“ _Please_ word it differently!” Allison begs. “I would love to spare her that trauma.” She turns toward Vanya with an exasperated look on her face. “They want to know if you think Diego and Klaus are--you know. If they're like….”

“If they're like Allison and Luther,” Jonathan finishes. Vanya blinks, then frowns, considering.

“I mean,” she says, squinting at nothing as she remembers the way Diego always looked after Klaus even when they were kids, at the way Klaus always sided with Diego against everyone else. “I could see it.”

“It's the way they look at each other!” Tan exclaims. “And the way they touch!” Vanya frowns some more. She's not sure she's noticed recently if Diego and Klaus look at or touch each other in any particular way, but maybe that's only because it hasn't been anything different from how they always were.

“It's ridiculous,” Allison says, shaking her head. The golden curls of Allison's hair bounce over her shoulders.

“I thought so, too, until I witnessed it for myself last night,” Jonathan says, swinging himself swiftly into a sitting position. “ _I_ thought little Tanny here was just projecting his Antoni stuff onto them--”

“Shut the _fuck_ up,” Tan says emphatically, his eyes going wide. Vanya’s mouth quirks up at the corner, hearing the way his accent pushes his unspoken threat around, curves it. Even when he's swearing, everything about him seems soft and warm to Vanya.

“--but then, right there in front of me, they held their hands like _this_ ,” Jonathan says, and grabs Tan's hand, interlacing their fingers for a moment before Tan pulls his hand away and crosses his arms in stubborn protest. “And everyone knows you only hold hands like that if you wanna bang.”

“I don't think that's a rule,” Allison says loftily.

“So all five of you think Diego and Klaus want to, uh, bang?” Vanga asks as she sits down on the floor to pull on her shoes.

“I don't think Bobby is _fully_ convinced,” Jonathan says. “Not that he isn't facilitating a definitive answer either way by moving them in together. Bless him. Bless our Bobbers.”

“We'll see what Antoni thinks after he spends tomorrow with the two of them,” Tan says, uncrossing his arms and standing to help Vanya to her feet. 

“Would he not just be ‘projecting his Tan stuff’?” Allison asks, mild annoyance in her voice.

“Oh no, Antoni doesn't have Tan stuff to project,” Jonathan says, shaking his head as he jumps up off the bed. “Antoni is surprisingly well adjusted to his Tan stuff. It's Tan who still needs help.”

“Excuse _me_ , you bitch!” Tan's mouth is open in what Vanya can only describe as a scandalized snarl. “I've nothing to adjust to! I'm perfectly adjusted!”

“Well, it's cute that you think that,” Jonathan says with a shrug. “I'll remind you of this the next time you come to me in the middle of my beauty sleep to complain about being so attracted to him.” 

Tan leans back and makes a little offended scoffing gasp that's some combination of sincere and fake, although Vanya isn't entirely sure of the ratio, but is otherwise shocked into silence. His expression is familiar to her, though - how many times did Vanya see the same look of naked delight at receiving attention and simultaneous semi-faux furious indignation on Klaus as a kid? On Allison? It's almost comforting to see it now, on Tan, solidly not a Hargreeves and still...like this. It makes Vanya feel less singular, somehow. Less of a freakshow. 

They end up at Griddy's, which. Vanya is really confused at the timeline of it all, if she's honest. The apocalypse still happened - _she_ happened - her family all share a collective memory of this event. They seem to be the only ones, though, and somehow Allison can speak again, and the Academy remains standing, and Griddy's is still open, despite the marked absence of a certain older blonde woman with a kind face...It doesn't make any sense. But Five keeps saying nothing does, nothing about them does, nothing about them ever has, so Vanya is trying to just go with it, and is mostly succeeding, she thinks. It's just weird to order from someone besides Agnes.

“This place is charming,” Jonathan says, looking around after running three napkins over the table in their booth.

“It used to be nicer, or at least, I remember it being nicer,” Vanya says. “We used to sneak out and come down here in the middle of the night, eat donuts until we were sick.”

“How on earth did you manage to sneak out of that house?” Tan asks. He places two napkins under each elbow before letting them rest on the table, but he never breaks eye contact. Vanya is glad that she didn’t go with Tan earlier in the week. For all that Jonathan’s entire personality is intense, it’s Tan’s keenness on engaged listening that feels like a challenge she has to meet.

“Ben would climb down the fire escape and then we'd all stand by our windows and he'd use his tentacles to bring us down, one by one,” Vanya says with a grin. “We could've all gone down the fire escape, I guess, but it wouldn't have been as fun. Nobody trusted Klaus to not make too much noise anyway.”

“Were you always included in those illicit donut gorging outings?” Jonathan asks. Vanya nods.

“Yeah, I mean, it wasn't a mission,” she says, “so I think it was easier for them to remember I was, you know, one of them. Five always remembered that, but.” She shrugs, a little bit brittle.

“Do you feel included now?” Tan asks, his head tilted to the side, blinking rather slowly.

Something about him right now reminds her of Klaus as a teenager, when he would smoke weed in his room with a towel rolled up tight along the crack under his door. Vanya could still smell it, always, and sometimes - not every time, but some - she'd be in the kind of mood that sent her knocking on the door, pushing it open against the resistance of the towel to find Klaus sitting on his bed, his back on the headboard, a joint between his fingers. He would tilt his head at her, blink slowly, and hold out the joint toward her, every time, and say, in no big rush, “Close the door, will you, V?”

She never wrote about that in her book, she realizes. She never wrote that she was the first sibling Klaus shared his high with, before Diego, before Allison. She never wrote about how much that meant to her. She told the world so many of her family's secrets but almost none of her own. It's no wonder they hate her, and yet.

“Yeah, I do,” Vanya says honestly. “The last few--well, actually, I don't know. Time has--”

“Gotten away from you, yes, we've heard,” says Tan.

“And we don't get it,” adds Jonathan. “Time isn't real anyways.”

“Please don't say that around Five,” Vanya implores. “The point is: things have been, um, complicated recently. But they're better to me than they've ever been, and this is probably when I least deserve it, so, you know.” She shrugs again. “It hasn't actually been terrible.”

Pancakes and eggs and donuts arrive at the table then, and the conversation shifts to food, and Antoni, and Jonathan and Vanya's previous flirtations with veganism, and by the time it circles into the inevitable topic of their sexualities, Vanya is grateful to find that it doesn't feel forced at all.

“I knew but I hated it,” Vanya says, adding another packet of sugar to her newly refilled cup of coffee. “Being bi was just another thing that made me different from the rest of them. Well, most of them. But you've seen how Klaus is, and--”

“Do you think Diego went, like, the hypermasculine route he did because of how Klaus went?” Jonathan interrupts, tucking his hair behind his ears. Vanya nods. 

“Exactly, yeah. We all saw the way people treated Klaus - the interviews with him got super invasive and, like, kind of mean, and he wasn’t even _out_ out, he just...was who he was,” she says. “Dad didn’t seem to care one way or the other about his sexuality, really, or his gender stuff, but he hated that Klaus didn't have a filter or boundaries. Diego felt like he had to go totally the other way, I think.”

“Masculinity and discretion,” Tan says, nodding as he picks up a blueberry from the river of syrup left on his plate. “Been there. Briefly.” He pops the blueberry into his mouth.

“I know Bobby sort of couched it in terms of what's best for Klaus, but I really think them living together will be good for Diego, too,” Vanya says. “Not that I'd put money on him ever borrowing one of Klaus’ skirts or anything, but. I dunno. Some color would be nice to see.”

“Well, then, I think you'll appreciate the new wardrobe I'll be giving him at the end of this week,” Tan says smugly, wiping his fingers on a napkin. 

“Speaking of,” Jonathan says excitedly, “what've you got for Vanya, Tanny?”

“I’m sure I need a lot of help,” Vanya mutters, but Tan shakes his head vehemently, his eyes wide.

“No, no, no, not at all. I never want to give you rules that don’t apply to you,” he says. “Tell me how _you_ feel about your style.” Vanya blinks in surprise.

“Oh, um, I actually...really like it,” she says. Tan nods and smiles at her. It’s dazzling. She thinks his teeth might actually chime with their brightness.

“I really like it, too,” he says. “It’s obviously not traditionally feminine but it’s also not totally butch - you and Klaus are sort of different sides of the same style coin, you know, in terms of gender expression in clothing. He’s both masculine and feminine, and you’re neither. And you’ve really nailed this androgynous style, which can so often just end up shapeless and bland, and made it _work_ for you. Genuinely well done.” Vanya feels the familiar urge to look down in embarrassment at the praise, but remembers what she and Karamo worked on just two days ago, what Antoni talked to her about yesterday, what Jonathan told her this morning as he looked at her face, and she looks Tan in the eyes and smiles instead.

“Thank you,” she says. “That means a lot. It’s like, the only thing I learned by myself, I think.”

“Your dad really dictated your guys’ clothes before you left home, huh?” Jonathan asks. Vanya nods.

“Always a skirt,” she says with a roll of her eyes. “Pleated. Knee-high stockings. A blazer two sizes too big.” She shrugs. “It was a school uniform. We all had to build up our closets from scratch when we left, I guess.”

“Well, some of you did better than others,” Tan says. “I’m not going to take very long with you, I don’t think - really, I just want to see how you feel about adding some prints and waistcoats to your wardrobe.” At this, Jonathan gasps dramatically, his hand over his heart.

“ _Waistcoats_ ,” he stage whispers. “Oh my god, Tan, _Tan_! Our little Vanya in _waistcoats_.” He gasps again, slapping his hand at the table this time. “Vanya in a vest!”

“It’s called a waistcoat,” Tan says calmly, pursing his lips and never taking his eyes off of Vanya. She grins at them both and takes another sip of her coffee, something like true excitement slowly weaving its way throughout her body.

An hour later, in a men’s formalwear shop half a block from the apartment that is technically Vanya’s and also technically empty, she tries on about a dozen different waistcoats, various colors and fabrics and even prints. There’s a slate grey one with little dinosaurs on it and Vanya can’t stop smiling when she’s wearing it. Tan stands by her side in front of the mirrors every time, grinning proudly, telling her she looks _killer_ and _so good_ and _powerful_ , and she believes him.

She worried about this part of this entire week, actually. She worried that the fresh memories, all too vivid, of the last - only - time a man gave her positive affirmations would create a block against what she should be learning this week, would send her running the other way, would trigger her. But Karamo told her the first day that she deserved the kind of life that she could have with an open heart. She showed him her power and he told her that she was worthy of it, gently pushed her to say it herself until she believed it. And yesterday Antoni pulled happy memories from her like a time capsule, reminded her that she has always been loved by the people who truly matter, convinced her that real family is chosen, and asked if she would choose her siblings now, and she didn’t even have to think about it before saying _yes, always, every time_. And now, standing beside Tan and his lovely accent that makes even harsh jabs fall like pillows, hearing him call her taste in fashion _instinctively brilliant_ and the way she looks in properly fitted jeans and a pineapple-print waistcoat _hot_ , she feels like her spirit is being stitched up again, better and stronger this time than it was before.

“When the other boys see you wearing an outfit like this, they are going to _lose_ their minds,” Tan says, slipping his thumb around a belt loop and tugging playfully. “Do you feel _good_?”

“I feel _really_ good,” Vanya says. Tan smiles at her and puts his hand over his heart, taking a step away just to turn and get a better look at her.

“It shows on your face,” he says, nodding with satisfaction. He smooths his hand down her back and curls his fingers in the material around the bottom hem, yanks down so she’s forced to stand up straighter. He looks back toward the mirror, meets her eyes there. His are glittering when he says, “Don’t tell Klaus, but you’re the one I’ve had the most fun with.”

\---

Jonathan has been dying to get his hands in and on and around Vanya’s hair since he first laid eyes on her. And now he’s got her in a chair, her head tipped back over a sink, and yes, he could have been done with this shampoo and conditioning four complete minutes ago, but Vanya, like Klaus, is apparently _wildly_ touch-starved, and Jonathan figures the least he can do for her is give her a good scalp massage after working conditioner through the ends of her hair. Yesterday Diego did this thing where he gave a full-body shudder - actually _shuddered_ , Jonathan swears - when there was slight but prolonged pressure applied to his temple, and Jonathan was hoping it was, like, a sexual thing, but Vanya does it, too, so he thinks it’s just.

Touch. Human touch. The lack thereof, in a caring manner, for years and years. Jonathan read Vanya's book when it came out five years ago, knew before he ever met them a little about what these kids went through, but seeing it? Actually experiencing Five's freezing and Diego's flinching and Klaus’ reflexive leaning in and Vanya's palpable relief? Being able to fully compare it to Allison’s perfectly functional personhood? It's crushingly heartbreaking. They've been deprived of love for so long, of the simplest expression of it, that Jonathan almost doesn't know where to start. 

Almost. Luckily, he's him, and he can talk his way to anything if he puts his mind to it. 

“I played violin, too,” he tells her between bouts of blow drying. “I wasn't particularly great, though.”

“I'm not really either, to be honest with you,” she says the next time he stops the blow dryer to run his fingers through her hair. “Not without my power, at least.”

“You know, I did get first chair once, but only because the girl who had it before me fell down the stairs,” Jonathan says. He meets her eyes in the mirror, sees her slow questioning smile, and widens his eyes like she's outright accusing him of something. It's a game he gets to play every time he tells this story. He sets down the dryer and exclaims, “I did not push her! I promise!”

“I only got first chair because my boyfriend murdered the woman who had it before me,” Vanya says. It's not quiet, but Jonathan can tell it's a point of shame and sadness for her. Her eyes go wide for just a little millisecond before darting down to her lap. Jonathan clicks his tongue.

“Well, goodness, Vanya, we can't all be as committed to our craft, alright?” he says brashly. He looks at the mirror until Vanya looks back up. He can tell she's biting back a laugh and he grins himself. Satisfaction.

“The thing is you have this absolutely _divine_ hair,” he says then, in his Blanche voice, before switching back to his normal tone. “Do you like it this length? Are you wanting to change it up at all? Tell me your vision.”

“I like it this length,” Vanya says, nodding. Jonathan is _immensely_ relieved to hear it. He wasn't planning to take scissors to it beyond a dusting of her split ends regardless, but it always feels good to be on the same page as a client. “I don't really think about my hair too much, I guess. I'd maybe like it to have some more volume?” Jonathan nods.

“I agree,” he says, “and that's _such_ an easy fix. You don't even have to worry about it. I also want to see what you look like with just some subtle highlights - nothing crazy, but just some cute little framing of your absolutely gorgeous face. Does that sound good?” Vanya nods, excitement creeping into her usually sad eyes, and Jonathan grins at her before running to gather his supplies.

“You don't have to keep calling me beautiful, you know,” Vanya says quietly half an hour later, as Jonathan paints honey brown dye through her hair. He doesn't pause, but he does get a little stinging sensation in his throat. “I know I'm not anything--”

He does pause then, because she does, and when he looks up at the reflection of her face in the mirror, he can see she looks stricken. He thinks: manipulative ex. He thinks: beautiful, famous sister. He thinks: abusive dad.

The thing that really kills him about this hot and heavy mess of a family is how they all think they're so guarded and, like, private, when every tiny ounce of their pain is etched so starkly into their features. It's in Luther's stiff posture. It's in the knuckles of Diego's fists. It's even in Allison's hesitancy. It's in the track marks on Klaus’ arms. It's in the defiant set of Five’s jaw.

It's here, where Vanya's sitting, in her cutting herself off.

“Well, I'm not here to lie to you, girl,” says Jonathan brightly. “You think you're nothing special just because you don't look like your sister? Well, I like to say comparison is the thief of joy. Vanya Hargreeves, you are a complete and total package, with or without your power, with or without Tan's vests - he calls them waistcoats because he's British and doesn't know any better, okay? - and with or without these highlights, and you deserve _joy_.” Vanya says nothing, just blinks at him. Her brow furrows in twitches, like she's taking in his words. He feels emboldened by it, her receptiveness, so when a continuation builds up inside his chest, he gives it a voice.

“And, really, you know, being a complete and total package also means that you have agency! Which is, like, sort of new for you, you know, with your dad, like, literally drugging you and making you think you didn’t have a power!” he exclaims, dipping his brush into the bowl of color. He was born for moments like this, a la Kelly Clarkson - for talking and talking and doing hair and doing hair and talking - he forgets sometimes and it feels so good to be reminded that it makes other people feel good, too. It’s like he has a superpower himself.

“But what that means is really just responsibility, you know?” Jonathan continues as he paints a thin section of Vanya’s hair. “Like, mistakes and accountability and forgiveness and what have you. Being a full person is complicated. It takes work to be a complete and total package, girl! But you’re _worth_ putting the work into yourself, and your self-care, and the more you do that, the more you commit to it, the easier it’ll become. And it’ll get easier for you to believe that you’re worth it, too! And you start to expect and, like, demand the same treatment from everybody else. Does that make sense?” He looks up toward the mirror and sees her eyes glistening.

“Yeah, it does,” she says softly. She gives him a smile and he squeezes her shoulder.

“You can wipe your eyes if you want - I won’t look, we don’t even have to acknowledge it if you want it to be just, like, sneaky,” he says. “I mean, don’t be afraid of crying - not just in front of me but in general, and _especially_ in front of my baby Antoni.” Vanya laughs, and the motion causes the tears in her eyes to spill over, but she doesn’t wipe them away just yet.

“He’s a crier,” she says fondly. “I thought maybe the show was just edited that way, but he just really cries.”

“He’s a sweet baby boy,” Jonathan says, his eyes lighting up. “You know how, like, children feel their feelings so intensely and are just always on the verge of crying?”

“That’s Antoni?” 

“That’s our baby Antoni,” Jonathan confirms with a nod. 

“That’s funny,” Vanya says with a grin, finally wiping her face with the back of her hand. “The other guys all said _you’re_ their baby.” Jonathan comes to a dramatic pause and gives her his very best innocent expression. 

“ _Me_?!” he says, scandalized, then, once it’s clear that she’s biting back another laugh, he shrugs and scrunches up his face. “Yeah, it’s me, I’m the baby.” An honest-to-god giggle escapes between Vanya’s pursed lips. Jonathan grins, wide and satisfied.

“Okay, time to refocus!” he says, turning his attention back to the bowl of coloring and the brush in his hands. “Your hair just needs some life in it. Some new life. A little TLC, ‘No Scrubs,’ you know?” Vanya furrows her brow, but Jonathan barrels on. “I’m just working some minor miracles today. A resurrection!” he adds excitedly.

“You do already look like white Jesus,” Vanya points out with a smile. Jonathan’s gasp shifts almost immediately into a collapsing laugh.

“‘ _White_ Jesus,’” he repeats, righting himself and recentering his focus for, like, the thirteenth time. “I mean, you’re not wrong, but shut _up_ , girl, you’re gonna make me spill this dye all the fuck over myself!”

“Please don’t,” Vanya says with a grimace. “I wouldn’t know how to even begin helping with the cleanup.”

\---

“I’ve been told you eat raw eggs,” Antoni mutters to himself as he flexes his fingers before rapping his knuckles against the door. He looks down at his shoes. “Don’t mention Luther by name. Just--” The door opens and he looks up into Diego’s sleepy, handsome face. Antoni glances ever so briefly down at Diego’s mouth before meeting his bleary eyes again and smiling, just a little. 

“Good morning. I’ve been told you crack raw eggs directly into your mouth for breakfast. Is that true?” Diego blinks slowly, rolls his eyes a bit.

“It’s efficient,” he says gruffly.

“Yeah, we’re not gonna do that anymore,” Antoni says with a little one-shouldered shrug. He keeps his tone warm, his expression sweet. He knows what he’s doing, and even though a freshly-awakened Diego is more disarming than he anticipated, well, hey. He can be disarming, too. Careful to keep his head still, he lets his eyes travel down Diego’s chest - _tragically_ clothed, to be honest - and back up again. “Not that it isn't doing you favors.” Antoni watches Diego's throat bob as he swallows and flutters his eyelids just a touch when he smiles. Got him.

“Unfortunately I see I'm losing a bet here,” he says lowly. “I did not expect you to sleep with a shirt on, what with your knives confiscated and all.” Diego's mouth twitches and a tingly sort of ominous feeling floods through Antoni's chest. He's known Tan long enough to know what a challenge being met looks like. He's not exactly surprised when Diego's hand drifts from the doorknob lower to scratch over where black boxer briefs sit low on his hips, to slip under his shirt enough to bare an inch or so of midriff. Antoni, despite the best efforts he can offer at this hour of the day, finds himself mesmerized.

“Not even Tan got to see my nipple ring,” he hears Diego say. He snaps his head up to look at Diego with wide eyes, first at his face, then deliberately down to his chest again. The tank top Diego's wearing is just clingy enough for Antoni to be able to make out a tiny ring there, evidence that once upon a time, Diego Hargreeves, crime-fighting vigilante, wielder of sharp knives and sharp enough wit, the motherfucking _Kraken_ , sat in a piercer's chair with his shirt off and let a real live person drive a needle through his nipple and never took out the ring long enough for it to close.

Antoni's mouth feels very dry, all of a sudden. It's way too early for this kind of game.

“Would you mind terribly showing him your bare chest at some point, though?” he asks, once he remembers he has vocal cords. “Nobody will bet against me if I say you've got a piercing. This could be my greatest victory.” Diego smirks and opens his mouth, but before he can answer, the door is thrown open further, revealing Klaus, wide awake, fully dressed, and smiling brightly.

“Morning, Antoni,” he says with a promising pout. His eyes flick down and back up before he jerks his head toward Diego and asks, in an even more promising tone, “Do we get to share you today?” Diego’s mouth closes. He licks his lips like he’s not totally conscious that he’s doing it. Antoni shouldn’t be doing this alone. He should’ve brought reinforcements.

“Good morning. Don’t you have your own room?” he asks Klaus, who grins and throws his arm around Diego’s broad shoulders.

“My brother simply can’t sleep without me around,” he says loudly, in some strange, unplaceable accent. He turns his head to stage whisper in Diego’s ear, “Tragic.” Diego rolls his eyes, doesn’t even look at Klaus.

“I’m sure you bother Tan with shit like this all the time,” he says, inexplicably, pulling away from Klaus and turning back into the room, presumably going for his suitcase. 

“We’ve been over this,” Klaus says with a frown. “ _I’m_ Tan.”

“Wait, what?” Antoni asks. Klaus waves a dismissive hand and grabs Antoni’s arm, pulling him unceremoniously into the room. Antoni sits on the edge of Diego’s bed, Klaus spread out on his back beside him, while Diego showers. At some point he turns toward Klaus and says, “Did you spend the whole night like this?”

“What - awake and on my back?” Klaus replies with a lewd smile. Antoni resolutely does not allow himself to blush, but only because Klaus is holding the dog tags around his neck between his fingers and was looking wistful and sad until Antoni's question. 

“And fully clothed?” Antoni adds. Klaus looks taken aback for a split second before letting out a soft laugh.

“You caught me,” he says with a self-deprecating sort of shrug. Antoni lies back, stretched out next to Klaus now, and eyes the dog tags in Klaus’ hand.

“Can I see?” he asks. Klaus hesitates for a few moments, but he opens his palm, holds it out toward Antoni, who still has to lean closer to take the tags between his own fingers. He runs his thumb over the surface as he reads it. _Katz, David J._ A row of numbers Antoni doesn't recognize. A blood type. _Jewish._

The thin rectangle of metal is very nearly weightless in his hand, but Antoni feels an inescapable heaviness to it anyway. Somewhere in Vietnam in 1968, Klaus Hargreeves, now a recovering addict, plagued by the specters of the dead and his own failures, the goddamn _Séance_ , loved a man, and that man loved him in return, and that man was real and alive, bled and prayed. 

“He was a good cook, too,” Klaus says, his voice quiet and scratchy. Antoni places the tags back in Klaus’ hand and looks up at his face, takes in his softened features.

“Yeah? MREs, though? Or--”

“They were called MCIs back then,” Klaus corrects, his gaze distant. “C-rations. Canned everything. Meat, cheese spread, crackers, tiny little chocolate discs.” He shakes his head and closes his fist around the dog tags again before adding, “Peaches.” 

“He was able to cook on the front lines?” Antoni asks. Klaus meets his eyes and gives him a small smile.

“Our unit was deep in the jungle a lot. Each of us would save up a few rations for about a week or so, then we’d combine our efforts, and I’d start a fire and Dave would cook,” he says. “Once or twice I discovered he saved up chocolate discs and peaches just for the two of us.”

“Grilled peaches?” Antoni guesses. It’s just about the most romantic thing he can imagine cooking on the front lines of a war in 1968.

“Drizzled with melted chocolate,” says Klaus, nodding. “I’ve never tasted anything like it.” Antoni swallows and frowns. He can teach Klaus how to grill peaches, how to melt chocolate in a pot and drizzle it over fruit. Klaus can perfect the technique, using fresh, organic peaches and the highest quality chocolate that Sir Reginald Hargreeves’ inheritance money can buy. It won’t taste the same, though. It won’t taste better.

“Love is what comes out in the food,” Antoni says, almost apologetically, hoping he won’t have to explain. Klaus hums. He seems to get it.

“So teach Diego, then,” he says. Antoni blinks slowly, opens his mouth as he debates whether or not to address the implication Klaus has just made, and Klaus takes the opportunity to stare unabashedly at his face and sigh. Antoni decides to save the conversation that would probably go nowhere anyway and just report back to Tan later.

“What?” he asks.

“You and me,” Klaus says. He tucks the dogtags under his shirt and waves his other hand limply through the air. “We could’ve had a lot of fun, like, a few years ago. Even just one year, honestly. _Alas_ , it can never be.”

“For the best, I’m sure,” Antoni says, shrugging one shoulder, “what with us both being bottoms.” Klaus gives a great snort of laughter.

“Hey, don’t sell _me_ short. Just because I have a preference doesn’t mean I’m exclusive about it,” he says, raising his eyebrows at Antoni, a smirk growing on his face. “You think I wouldn’t know what to do with a little slice like you? _Please._ ” Antoni feels his face and neck go warm, and he inhales far too abruptly at the thought of telling Tan about _this_ , quick enough for him to start coughing just as the water in the shower is turned off.

Klaus jumps suddenly into action, gets to his feet and pulls Antoni upright again despite the coughing fit, straddles his lap and uncaps a black eyeliner pencil that's gotten into his hand from someplace. He waits patiently for Antoni to stop coughing before waving the pencil in front of his face.

“May I?” he asks in an English accent, more dramatically high brow than Tan’s. Antoni hesitates a moment, clearing his throat cautiously, and Klaus adds, in his normal voice, “I’m prepared to re _fuse_ to cooperate today if you do not--”

“Go on, then,” Antoni croaks. Klaus beams at him and gets to work, slow and careful, pausing every few seconds to smudge at Antoni’s eyelid with the soft pad of his ring finger. He’s started on the second eye when the bathroom door opens and Diego steps out, tugging a black shirt over his head. Antoni notices the way Klaus’ gaze dart to the side toward his brother, even as he keeps his head still, just for a moment, before refocusing on the eyeliner. Diego’s movements slow when he turns to look at them, and Antoni’s breath quickens when he thinks about the picture they must make, what Diego might be thinking. Inches from his face, Klaus’ Adam’s apple bobs and he digs into his lower lip with just a hint of teeth. Antoni feels like he’s on fire.

“Doesn’t he look _amazing_ with eyeliner, Diego?” asks Klaus, after what seems like centuries, as he turns Antoni’s head with a hand on his jaw. Diego barely looks at Antoni before rolling his eyes and grabbing his boots off the floor. Antoni nearly slips off the bed in surprise when Klaus scrambles off of his lap and takes a few steps toward Diego, who remains standing as he shoves his feet into his shoes and finally looks up when Klaus has started rubbing his hands over his own shoulders.

“Wanna help?” Diego says, his eyebrows raised expectantly. Antoni watches as Diego all but snaps his fingers, points down to his boots, and Klaus settles on the floor at his feet, getting to work on the laces. Tan warned Antoni about this, the air of possessiveness they carry with them - he’s remembering now, of course, as he’s avoiding Diego’s pointed gaze - but seeing it up close, being in an enclosed space with it, feels a bit suffocating.

“Is the air conditioner working in this room?” Antoni asks, standing and turning away from them, toward the noisy A/C unit in the corner. “Maybe you should run it while we’re out today. Like, doesn’t it feel humid in here?”

“Must be just you, man,” Diego says. Antoni purses his lips and looks back over his shoulder, glaring at the innocent expression on Diego’s face.

“Just for that, I’m going to make you guys _wait_ for breakfast,” he mutters.

Hours later, blessedly free of the weird, sensually tense torment of being in a room with Diego and Klaus, and _only_ Diego and Klaus, Antoni watches with delight as Tan, Jonathan, and Bobby all clean their plates.

“So Diego really _can_ cook!” Jonathan says as he rubs his belly, satisfied. “Oh, I'm so happy for you, Antoni.”

“I'm always so glad when you get one who can cook,” Bobby says. He looks over to Karamo, who has, predictably, not touched the food in front of him, and shakes his head. “ _Why_ would you choose gummies over some of the most delicious empanadas you could ever eat?”

“You know this is a losing battle by now, Bobby, come on,” Karamo says, popping a gummy into his mouth.

“But there's dark chocolate molé,” Tan says, but there's no fight in it. He knows it's a losing battle, too. They all do.

“It would really complement the taste of your Coke,” Antoni offers. Karamo pulls a dubious face.

“I'm good,” he says. “I'm more interested in the fact that he knew how to cook _this_ dish specifically. You said he told you his mom taught him?”

“Yeah, he said their mom was always super cognizant of their birthplaces,” Antoni says. “That's how she named them, for example. Diego was born in Mexico, so when he asked her to teach him how to cook, she started with molé, Mexico's national dish.”

“It’s no wonder he had a special bond with her,” Karamo says. “She sounds like the polar opposite of their dad.”

“Weird to think she was a robot,” says Tan.

“There are worse things to have special bonds with,” Bobby says lowly, his eyes going wide for a significant moment. 

“You've met Delores,” Jonathan says, giving Bobby a look.

“Ah, Delores,” Tan says. There's a strange sort of hysterical fondness in his tone. “She evidently enjoys her man in an argyle print.”

“Wait, who the hell is Delores?” Karamo asks, squeezing a gummy between his fingers.

“No one tell him!” Tan orders, pointing at each of their faces in turn. “Do not tell him!”

“Tomorrow is your day with Five, right?” Jonathan asks.

“Yeah.”

“Don't worry, then. You'll meet Delores,” Bobby says.

“We wouldn't want to spoil the surprise,” Antoni says. Karamo eyes them all suspiciously. 

“Okay, fine,” he says. “Then, Antoni, what's your final verdict on Diego and Klaus?” Tan sits straight up, eerily still.

“I...just don't know,” Antoni says. Tan makes an offended face and Antoni instantly holds up his hands in defense. “I mean, they're brothers! It's entirely possible they're just fucking _with us_ instead of fucking each other.”

“The Hargreeves family is not a normal family,” Jonathan says with concern in his eyes.

“If they’re not sleeping together already, then they will be soon,” Tan insists. “Or they _want_ to be!”

“Now _that_ I do agree with,” Antoni says.

“Well, you two would know,” Bobby says darkly.

“Hey!” Tan says.

“Karamo, please just _try_ the molé,” Bobby says, but Karamo simply holds up his bag of gummies.

“No, thank you.”

“Stop trying to take food away from me, Bobbers!” Jonathan exclaims. “When Karamo doesn’t eat, there’s more for us!” Under the table, Antoni feels Tan’s shoe digging into his ankle. He meets Tan’s eyes and smiles.

\---

Karamo won’t lie: he’s spent the better part of this week mildly starstruck. He had totally forgotten how much he loved the Umbrella Academy as a kid, but seeing the emblem on the gates outside, walking past all the creepy portraits and collectibles inside, instantly reawakened his childhood fandom. It's not what he's used to in these types of situations. He's always composed and in control for _Queer Eye_ \- their heroes _need_ him to be, if he's going to help them effectively. Typically that's not hard! Years spent doing social work taught him how to detach his own feelings from others’, but here he's been all week, narrowly avoiding asking a dozen questions about their more obscure missions and just barely resisting a confession that he dressed up as The Horror for Halloween once. 

So it's been a long-ass week, and there's still three days left after today, but this afternoon is reserved for Allison. He kept his chill in the car while Antoni read the dossier, but he _adores_ Allison Hargreeves, which he guesses makes him more or less like everyone else except, like, Diego, it seems. Objectively Karamo knows she's not a good actress, and she's never been especially nice to the press, but she loves her admiring public. She's known for always being gracious to be recognized by fans, regardless of what she's doing, so much so that it's really kind of suspicious. Her whole acting career, frankly, is suspicious. What’s true? What’s deserved? It’s impossible to know.

Karamo is, truthfully, _terrified_ of The Rumor. Everyone should be. Smart people would be. Yesterday at dinner Jonathan and Bobby were talking about how Diego was clearly the scariest one by the time they were teenagers, that it was obvious his rage fueled his innate ability to make his natural skill feel like a death threat. Antoni argued for Ben, who, albeit reluctantly, still possessed the capability of tearing grown, monstrous men apart in a matter of seconds. Only Tan shook his head and said, “Allison. It was and _is_ Allison.” Karamo could not agree more.

The Kraken and the Horror may have been frightening by the time the Umbrella Academy were teenagers, but Allison - the Rumor - had to have been terrifying even as a child. Karamo has always wondered how old she was when she realized how she could lord her power over her siblings. She can change reality with a mere four words, which presumably means she could have stripped the rest of them of their powers if she wanted, if they made her angry enough, if she didn’t get her way.

She’s always seemed the type who’s accustomed to getting her way.

Karamo expected most of his work for this week to be primarily about the Reginald Hargreeves and his questionable parenting, which has been the case, but he didn't anticipate Allison to come up so often, too. Vanya, Diego, Luther - so much of his time with them involved their sister, and Vanya's jealousy and admiration and guilt over a near-fatal wound that Karamo sees no evidence of, and Diego's childhood skittishness of her and fear of setting her off against him that's grown into his ugly adulthood resentment of her, and Luther's attraction and obsession and commitment even after all this time. Karamo almost wants to save Allison for last, just to see if Five and Klaus can track their respective issues through her as well.

But Allison is trying. Karamo could see it immediately, would have known even if Antoni hadn't read it from the dossier on the drive here. Allison has stuck to Vanya all week, save for yesterday when Karamo demanded her presence to work out her lingering...whatever with Luther. She's making her relationship with her sister a priority, working hard to make Vanya feel important and included. Karamo knows how hard it can be to become a better person, especially when you maybe weren't all that good of a person to begin with, and he just wants to give her what she needs to keep going down this path.

He asks her to meet him at the Academy after breakfast, and as Bobby and his team works all around them in what feels like every other damn room in the enormous house, Karamo and Allison are in her old bedroom. He watches her take down every poster of herself, every front cover featuring her face disappearing slowly from the walls. She throws away every magazine that had an interview with her, every newspaper article about what it was like to be the only girl in the Umbrella Academy. It's not quick or easy because Karamo doesn't want it to be. He asks her to hold each thing before she tosses it, to stare down at it and think about how it makes her feel. 

“Like Marie Kondo,” he says, and Allison gives him a blank look. He blinks at her. “How can you know _Queer Eye_ but not--nevermind, it doesn't matter. Just tell me how it feels.”

Allison clearly hates it. Karamo can tell by her body language and also by the way she glares at him after the fifth magazine clipping and says, “No offense, dude, but I fucking hate this.” She does it, though, and knowing that she could will all this away with one sentence if she really wanted to, Karamo thinks that counts for something pretty big.

They end up trashing most of what's in her room, even beyond the collection of her adolescent obsession with herself. It's her idea, which works well enough with Bobby's plan to tear down the wall and give Luther the bedroom of an adult man while giving Allison and Vanya their own rooms in a completely separate wing. She and Karamo talk about her divorce, about growing out of her narcissism, about leaving home and Luther, about what a terror she was until only a year ago, about how fucking _hard_ therapy is, about how it's worth it.

“I love my family,” she says, sitting on her floor next to the bag for donations, which is filled with clothes Karamo knows are going to make some sweet teenage girls’ days when they discover them in the thrift store a few blocks away. “I mean, _this_ family, you know. Vanya and Five and Klaus and everybody.” She's waving a hand mirror around, has been gesticulating with it for the past ten minutes like she's afraid to let go of it. The obvious symbolism there isn't lost on Karamo. 

“I know you do,” he says warmly. She sighs, letting her shoulders fall. 

“But nothing in the universe is more important to me than Claire,” she says. The mirror rests on the floor next to her knee, still clutched in her hand. “And I just know that if I keep going with this, _here_ \--if I just keep pushing, everything will shift together eventually and I'll be able to see her again.” She turns her head to look at the open door, has a distance in her eyes that makes Karamo think she must see it as closed.

“You've missed a few of the court ordered therapy appointments by now, haven't you?” he asks, careful to keep his voice gentle. Allison frowns.

“One that I know of,” she says, which doesn't make any sense to Karamo. She looks at him and he figures his confusion must show on his face, because then she's waving the mirror around again, trying to explain. “The one during the week of Dad's funeral, but after that it gets hazy, you know? Time--”

“Gotten away from you guys here,” Karamo says, nodding. It's starting to drive him crazy, hearing that completely absurd excuse, but he’s trying to keep his tone neutral. “I've heard.”

“Yeah, okay, I know it sounds nuts, but I really don't know….” she trails off, biting her lip and looking toward the window. She gingerly presses her free hand to her neck. “And then we were kids again,” she murmurs, “and now we’re...but _why_?”

“What's that?” Karamo asks. He's so, so confused, and he doesn't want to seem out of his depth here but he feels it. He just wanted to reassure her that she's doing good.

“Nothing,” Allison says, shaking her head. It appears to snap her back into reality, into the present time, or whatever, and she holds up the mirror to look at her reflection. It's the first time she's actually looked into it since she picked it up from her vanity. “I just...I need to know that all of this is worth it.”

“It is,” Karamo says instantly. “I mean, to see your kid again? Hell yeah. It absolutely, definitely is, even if you don't know when that'll be.” He leans forward and takes her free hand between both of his and she turns her gaze on him, never lowering the mirror. She looks terrified. 

“Allison, I just want to tell you, in case you're not hearing it from anyone else, you're doing such a good job,” he says firmly. “You're _trying_ , you're intentional, you're learning and growing. You're doing one of the hardest things anybody can ever do and you're _succeeding_. I'm so proud of you and you should be, too.”

Allison is crying when she finally drops the mirror into the donations bag. Karamo pulls her closer to him and hugs her, feels the relief of her tears in her tight grip. Mission accomplished. 

\---

Five has been dreading his day with Karamo ever since he found out what each of their jobs are. Well, a few minutes after he found out what each of their jobs are, if he wanted to be technical. He wishes he didn't want to, but time laid her claws in him decades ago, and that bitch just refuses to let go.

“Culture, huh?” is what he said then, with a little mocking smirk on his thirteen-year-old face. “Going to catch me up on all the news and celebrities and movie references from the years I missed? I'm sure there's at least one musical artist worth knowing.”

“Yeah, it's the Strokes,” Antoni said confidently. Tan immediately scoffed. 

“It's Adele,” he said.

“Um, it's _Beyoncé_ ,” Jonathan said. “What the fuck is wrong with you two?”

“Who, pray tell, is _Adele_?” Klaus asked, which earned him five flabbergasted looks of horror. The situation devolved quickly from there, as none of Five's other siblings had ever heard of Adele either, but eventually it got around to the fact that Karamo has his own definition of culture, his own methodology, and a mission to make everyone cry. 

For the record, Five is very certain that he's _not_ going to cry. He hasn't cried in about eleven years and he doesn't see how Karamo could change that. That's not even a factor in his days of dread. 

It's more the fact that Karamo will be meeting Delores.

Five knows that he's not _required_ to introduce them, but he already decided he would, and he's not one to veer from his course of action unless it's absolutely necessary. He doesn't want to give her the impression that he's ashamed of her, because he isn't, or give Karamo the impression that he's got something to hide, because he doesn't. It's just that he knows exactly what Karamo will think and exactly what he'll say.

But Five is pathologically goal-oriented. The Handler always said. He sits in the kitchen and pretends he can't hear the remodeling going on in the surrounding rooms and explains more details of his time in the future to Karamo than he's ever shared with anyone else. He talks about the vast emptiness, the fires that never stopped burning, the diet of rodents and insects and stale junk food, the loneliness. 

“So I gather there are some intimacy issues,” says Karamo. Five shakes his head. 

“Honestly, not really, although I can see why you'd think that,” he says. “I wasn’t entirely alone. I had someone, a partner of sorts.”

“Really?” Karamo says, furrowing his brow. “I thought--”

“We were together for over thirty years,” Five says. He's trying so hard to keep his voice even, modulated. He's trying to come off as logical and as rational as he _is_ , in the hope that he won't seem completely crazy after the fact. He's not an idiot like his siblings, though; he knows it's a foolish, futile aim. It's just as well anyway, because Delores is Delores no matter the year, no matter the outfit, and Five loves her so much that it's impossible to keep a hint of wistfulness from creeping into his tone.

“Wow,” says Karamo, amazed. “Was she--he--”

“She,” Five interjects. It doesn't _really_ matter to him, but it feels necessary in some way to take a stance of some kind in this context, even if it does seem to position him as the disastrous travesty of a heterosexual. 

“Was she part of that organization you worked for?” Karamo asks. It’s not his fault. Five didn't share many details about his short time with the Commission; he couldn't have known the math didn't work out. Five shakes his head. 

“No, we met not long after I jumped forward and got stuck.” He gives a small sigh and stands up. No point in further delaying the inevitable. “Would you like to meet her? She's just upstairs where I left her.” Karamo blinks at that but follows Five anyway, up the ridiculous staircases and past several rooms where loud construction or smelly painting is taking place.

Bobby is in Five's bedroom when they step inside, staring intently at a corner and sketching something on a legal pad. Five has somehow spent more time with Bobby than any of the others this week and he's more than willing to call the guy a genius, because he obviously is, but he doesn't need to see Bobby's judgmental features pinch as he does what needs to be done now, so he clears his throat. “We need the room for a few minutes,” he says. Bobby glances at Karamo and nods, already heading for the door.

“Let me know when you’re done. I'll be in Luther's room,” he says just before he disappears down the stairs. Five sighs again and goes to the wardrobe, opens the doors and gingerly places his hands around Delores’ arms.

“Karamo,” he says, picking Delores up and turning to face the man in question, “this is Delores. She's--well, she's technically my common law wife, but we haven't had a ceremony or signed any papers or anything.”

Karamo stares, slack-jawed and wide-eyed, in total, enveloping silence. 

Five smooths down Delores’ hair and frowns. This isn't her best wig, not by a long shot. He'll have to get her a new one soon, a softer one, something in the range of auburn or strawberry blonde, like she had in 2031. She looked so beautiful that spring, before it was lost in a windstorm. She deserves a new wig now, in 2019 or so, not this straw-textured fire engine red thing they had her wearing at the store. He’ll get her a new wig and a new dress, sequined and silver. She'll look stunning.

“Okay,” Karamo says finally. Five looks at him, shifts his grip around Delores’ ribs. He's pleased and impressed to see that Karamo's eyes have gone back to their normal size already. “Okay,” Karamo says again. “Can you...tell me more about Delores?”

“She has a brilliant mind,” Five says with no hesitation. “I feel lucky that she loves me. She stuck around for years even though she thought I drank too much. She was right about that, by the way.”

“Oh, sure, _now_ you admit it,” Delores mutters. Five raises an eyebrow at her.

“You said I had some growing up to do,” he says defensively. “I've been trying to do it.” He does not say, _I'm trying to be truly worthy of the decades you've spent by my side,_ but he thinks she gets it anyway.

“Right, okay,” says Karamo. He's making a valiant effort. Five can appreciate that. “Well, she sounds--important to you. When did you find--meet! When did you meet her?”

“About four years after I got stuck in the future,” Five answers. _Four years, two months, one week, five days,_ he does not say. “We were just friends for awhile. Companions. I wasn't the only lonely soul, you know.”

“I wasn't that lonely,” Delores says.

“Your friends were scattered on the other end of the parking lot where I met you,” Five can't help but snap. “It's not like you could even communicate with them.”

“Look, I've gotta be honest, Five,” Karamo says. Five doesn't let him finish.

“You feel out of your depth,” he says. He knows. Karamo nods, frowning like he's genuinely sorry about it. 

“I mean, I really...I don't know where to begin.” Five sighs and nods.

“Yeah, I expected that,” he says with a shrug. “I can explain. Let me just--” He turns away, placing Delores in the wardrobe again, running his fingers through her hair. He remembers suddenly that Tan said he would have some new wigs for her at the end of this. He smiles down at her.

“Don't worry,” he murmurs before closing the doors. “In a few days you'll have a real place in this room and your own half of the closet.” He turns back to Karamo, who still looks concerned and confounded.

“Listen,” Five says, slumping his shoulders, dropping at least a third of the facade he otherwise always maintains. At what point does it stop being a facade? At what point should it start feeling like he's not faking? 

“I am never going to be able to have a relationship with another person. Not a living, breathing one,” says Five. There's no emotion in it, none involved at all. He's simply sharing a fun fact. “I was thirteen. I came of age alone. I grieved my family alone. I starved and scrounged alone. I killed alone. I was there for over forty years, alone, before I saw another living person.” He sneers, thinking of the Handler now. He hopes she's fucking dead.

“The fact of the matter is that I will never be fully socially functional,” he continues. Karamo remains, thankfully, speechless. “I know that. I accept it. I needed _someone_ or I would've gone completely out of my mind, and that someone turned out to be Delores.” He takes a deep breath, a few steps closer to Karamo, away from the wardrobe. 

“I know she's a mannequin,” he says. God, he's trying so hard to not make it obvious, how much he wants to whisper. “I know she's not really speaking to me. I'm not entirely delusional.” Every word feels like a little betrayal, regardless of the truth of them. He hopes it's true anyway. He wants it to be true.

 _Of all the things I've lost, I miss my mind the most,_ he hears. It's gratingly singsongy and sounds just as much like it's from within his brain as it sounds like it's coming from the direction of the wardrobe. He sets his jaw.

“She's not a crutch,” Five says softly. “She's not a fix. She's all I had, for a long fucking time, and maybe one day I'll be able to let her go for good, but right now, I still need her. I still _want_ her. And I won't let you attempt to talk me out of that and waste both our time.”

“I don't want you to let her go until you're ready,” Karamo says finally, shaking his head. “You've experienced enough loss.” Five stares at him.

“Huh,” he says after a moment. He’s taken aback, really. He was expecting this to be drawn out a lot more. “Okay. Well, good.”

“I guess I just want to make sure that you’re not, like, sacrificing your relationship with your siblings,” Karamo says. “They’re here, they’re living and breathing, and they want you in their lives.”

“I know,” Five says, “and I’m not. I mean, I’m trying not to.” He glances over his shoulder toward the wardrobe. “It is easy to fall back on what I’m used to, but...I did miss them. I still miss Ben.”

“You grew up away from them,” Karamo points out. “You kind of have to get to know them all over again, right? It makes sense that it would be easier to fall back on the relationship you know, the one that seems more established. But your family missed you, too, and it’s going to take time and a lot of nurturing to reestablish those relationships.” Five nods and looks down at his shoes.

“Well,” he says, “I think I can manage that. We’ve certainly got time, I’m afraid.” It’s quiet for a few moments. Five listens for Delores’ voice but only hears the whirring and hammering and bantering of the Academy undergoing reconstruction. He looks up at Karamo. “So who are you working with tomorrow? Who’s left?”

“Klaus,” Karamo says. One corner of Five’s mouth lifts even as he grinds his teeth together.

“Mind if I join you two?” he asks. It comes out so sincerely that the soft tone of his own voice just about knocks the wind out of him. He actually _wants_ to join them, he realizes. He wants to hear Klaus speak words that are meaningful, to learn who he is sober and to solve the riddle of those tattoos that appeared overnight. He wants to know about the guy whose name is on the dogtags. Klaus might actually tell him, with Karamo around to facilitate, but--it doesn’t matter anyway, because Karamo wants to give Klaus privacy, doesn’t want to--

“That’d be good, I think,” Karamo says, putting a sudden stop to Five’s careening train of thought. “You’ve both been harmed by time travel. It’ll be good for both of you, to learn to lean on what’s real and alive.”

“Klaus is real and alive,” Five blurts out. His voice was quiet, and his lips barely moved, but he snaps his mouth shut nonetheless. He glares at Karamo, but Karamo only nods.

“So are you,” he says gently. Five feels his hardened expression softening before he intends it to even happen. He sticks his hands in his pockets and looks down at his shoes again. He is real and alive and not alone, and so is Klaus, and so is Vanya, and so is Diego, and Luther, and Allison.

“Even Ben hits two out of three,” comes Delores’ muffled voice from the wardrobe.

\---

Tan asks, “So, how exactly _does_ this work?” with his hip cocked to the left and his gaze falling something like two feet to the right of Ben.

Ben can’t blame him, though. He doesn’t really know how it works either. It’s sweet, at least, that Tan is trying.

“You know, I’m not sure,” Klaus says, giving Ben a curious look. “Maybe if I just--” He closes his eyes, clenches his fists at his side, and Ben trembles. It startles him - _feeling_ \- just like it has every time this has happened in the last whenever. He wonders if he'll ever get used to it.

Ben looks down at himself, presses his hand to the pocket of his hoodie where he's stuffed a book, feels the solid stiffness of it, and watches as a blue shadow forms over and around him. When he looks up, Tan's eyes are actually on him.

“Holy shit,” says Tan, staggering a few steps backward. “Holy _shit_!”

“Seems to get easier the longer I’m sober,” Klaus says with a shrug. Ben glances over to see him rotating his wrists, stretching his fingers out, testing the tether to Ben's projection. It's gotten slightly weaker each time. Ben is less like a puppet now - not that he ever truly was, not that every hired gun he murdered in that theater the night the world ended wasn't a deliberate choice he made himself - but he still feels a bit of a tug. He's been afraid to ask if Klaus feels it, too, on his end.

“That makes sense, I think,” Tan says thoughtfully. He tilts his head to the side, grins with a raised eyebrow. “Anything else you can do then? Any other tricks?” Klaus laughs and waves his _HELLO_ hand dismissively, but Ben doesn't miss the subtle twisting of his left ankle, the inch he shrinks back into the ground - _onto_ the ground. Ben rolls his eyes. His ridiculous chaotic little imp of a brother has spent most of his life high and only now, when he's not, is he going to actually fly.

“So can you fix him? His style is stuck at sixteen,” Klaus complains. 

“And where do you think _yours_ is stuck?” Ben snaps.

“Eh,” Klaus says, glancing down at his outfit. “Somewhere between 1968 and 1993, probably. War zone, club scene. Opium, ketamine.” He shrugs and looks up again.

“I like to think I've made sense of _that_ ,” Tan says fondly. God, Klaus is dangerously charming. Ben has only seen him around the family for awhile; he'd forgotten. “So now I get to make sense of _you_.” Ben twitches when he realizes Tan is addressing him.

“I already make sense,” he says. It's not defensive. It's just factual. “Hoodie, jeans, all black. I'm dead, dude. I got no one to impress.”

“Just because you're dead doesn't mean you shouldn't put in an effort to feel good about yourself,” Tan says. He makes a dumbfounded face and shakes his head. “This is certainly the most memorable episode we've filmed.” Ben looks around. There aren't any cameras. 

“Can you at least get him in some color?” Klaus asks. Tan turns a questioning look onto Ben, who frowns as he considers it.

“I guess now, since more people can see me sometimes….”

“That's the spirit!” Tan says excitedly. 

“Ha!” bursts out Klaus. “Spirit.” Ben rolls his eyes and Tan laughs as he walks purposefully toward the racks of clothes near the shop's entrance. A sudden thought occurs to Ben. His eyes widen as he glances around the store.

“Klaus,” he whispers, “they can see me, too.” Klaus hums a question and spins around to follow his gaze. He surely sees what Ben sees: two cashiers, three salespeople, and four customers are sending him furtive looks of confusion and fear and amazement. 

“Of course they can,” Klaus says, although his tone betrays his own mild surprise. The Hargreeves kids should really get out more. “You're a real boy now, after all.”

 _A real boy_ , Ben thinks. He slips his fingers under the sleeve surrounding his opposite wrist just to feel the skin there. _His_ skin, again. Is he sixteen or verging on thirty? He never knows how the math shakes out. His skin feels new and familiar and younger and older.

It makes sense, he supposes. He straddles two worlds. Maybe three. The dead and the living and the monstrous thumping their tentacles buried in his abdomen against the book stowed away in his hoodie. It was a shallow grave for them, when he died. There was no escaping the monsters just as much as there was no escaping Klaus, who can now control whether or not he can escape everyone else.

“Klaus,” Ben mumbles, uncertain, but Klaus is there, empathetic as always, even more intuitive than before, without the drugs in his system. He puts a hand on Ben's shoulder. It stops there, solid and steady as Klaus can manage for someone who has never stayed still in his waking life. Ben reaches his own hand up and settles it over Klaus’, squeezes hard at his fingers. Klaus hisses a little, sucks on his teeth. 

“Rude,” he mutters, then, unnecessarily, “I didn't mean that.” Ben gives Klaus a smile.

“I know, man.”

“Alright, so, I've expanded the color palette a bit. I've got some light grays and some pastels, which I know might be pushing it _but_ I really think the paler pink especially will look great with your skin tone,” Tan says from behind them. They both turn to see him wheeling a hanger cart populated with shirts and jackets and thankfully dark wash jeans.

Klaus drops his hand from Ben's shoulder out of necessity but still touches him, rubs his palm over Ben's elbow over and over, like he's tracing the border of Ben. It seems absentminded but he knows better, knows Klaus now in a way he never did before, even when they were both alive. Klaus is tactile and deliberate because he needs reassurance that he's real, too. 

It's been annoying and kinda pathetic to witness all these years, but Ben appreciates it now that he can experience it. The touch makes it easier for him to understand the boundaries of his body. He could've used that, before he died violently at a young age.

“Yeah, I'll try on the pink hoodie,” he volunteers. Tan beams.

\---

Bobby's got Luther putting in work. Like, real work. The type of thing he hasn't done in years, or maybe ever. And Luther...likes it.

He's been working alongside Bobby off and on all week, whenever he isn't with one of the other four, helping to transform his bedroom into something suitable for an adult his size. He's growing up at twenty-nine, and if he can't move out, then at least his room can grow up with him.

He personally knocked down the wall between his and Allison's rooms yesterday, and Bobby only grimaced and said plainly, “Please don't see this as a metaphor for knocking down the wall between the two of you. Please. It's just a wall.” He went with Bobby to shop for furniture the day before and realized he has no idea what his taste in anything is, and Bobby patiently asked him questions and talked him through it until he ended up with only pieces he really likes. He stuffed a few garbage bags full of just about everything in his bedroom three days ago and carried them all at once downstairs and out into the alley and tossed them in the dumpster, and Bobby watched approvingly from the fire escape landing just outside Five’s window.

This is going to be Luther’s space - _his_ and his alone - and he is getting to create it from nothing. The problem is he doesn’t really know who he is yet. He’s been trying to learn how to exist out from under his father’s thumb, but it’s hard when he still has to be Number One to the rest of his family. He was born into a specific role to all of them, not just Dad, and he still feels the crushing pressure to be a leader - _the_ leader, _their_ leader. Karamo told him to stop thinking of himself in terms of who he is to other people, but he isn't sure what he is, without carving himself out of the negative space.

Everything in his room now seems to be trying to help him figure it out.

 _If you're not Diego's foil_ , the can of comforting orange creamsicle-color paint currently at his feet seems to ask, _then who are you?_ He pauses painting the trim below the ceiling to wonder at that. What kind of person could he become if he stepped back and let Diego prove himself as a leader? He doesn't _really_ think Diego's incapable, does he?

 _If you're not waiting around for Allison, if you're not belittling Klaus, then what are you?_ asks the long, eye-level bookshelf lining a wall that was once Allison's. Instead of running from the question, he stops to consider it again, twirling the paintbrush handle in his hand. What could he do with all that free time and energy if it wasn't completely devoted to Allison? What kind of brother could he be to Klaus if he fought the impulse to roll his eyes and just listened for a change?

On the moon Luther got used to talking to himself. He narrated his life to his little plant. He sleepily mumbled his dreams to the sunrise. Here on earth, now in this time they can't make sense of, he still finds himself talking out loud without meaning to, when he's alone. And the thing is, Bobby is really quiet when he's focused.

“These all sound like really good questions to be asking of yourself,” Bobby says. Luther jumps. Bobby is on the other side of the room, painting the eastward wall a soft, unassuming chocolate brown. Luther turns to see him grinning. “Forget I’m here again?”

“You're stealthy,” Luther says. Bobby snorts.

“You're just distracted,” he says goodnaturedly. “Keep going.” Luther lets the brush hang down at his side, dripping paint onto old newspapers. 

“You mean keep painting or keep talking?” he asks. Bobby raises an eyebrow and turns away from him, starts painting his own wall again.

“Both,” says Bobby. “Still got three walls and two siblings to get through.” Luther goes with it, crouches down to dip the brush in the paint again before facing his wall.

“Three,” Luther says, after a moment. Because there's Ben. He shakes his head. “Two.” Because the only way to Ben is through Klaus, for now. He can worry about being a good brother to a dead guy when Ben becomes more….

“Substantial?” offers Bobby.

“Yeah,” Luther says, but he's still not completely certain. He paints in silence for a few minutes, which doesn't seem to bother Bobby, and then a drop of orange paint rolls down the brush handle onto Luther's hand, mingles messily with the hair on his knuckles.

 _If you're not resenting Vanya for the guilt you feel about the apocalypse, then how do you truly feel about her?_ He pulls a rag from his pocket and wipes the paint away. He thinks about Vanya's wide despairing eyes behind the glass of the secret room in the basement and the strength of Vanya's power surging through his veins in the theatre and the softness in her voice when she said she nominated him for this. He loves Vanya. He does, and he used to know what that meant and how to do it, and now he doesn't know any of that anymore. Vanya seems willing to teach him, though. The least he could do is let her.

“And Five?” Bobby asks after a few more silent minutes. Luther doesn't answer at first. He finishes this wall and puts down the paintbrush, steps back and admires his hard work. He thinks of the wallpaper that used to be in Five's room, before Bobby got to it: a boy, outside, pulling a red wagon all around the room, alone.

“If I stopped worrying so much about Five,” he says, “who would I be letting down?” He can hear rather than see Bobby giving him a sharp look.

“Would you be letting anyone down?” Bobby says calmly. Luther considers it.

“Maybe not,” he answers. It would be a welcome break, honestly, to stop worrying about Five constantly. Five would be happy about it and Luther could spend that time on anything else. And it's not like Dad ever truly taught them all to work together in any real meaningful way, even on missions, so he wouldn't be letting Dad down either.

They're all probably letting Dad down now anyway, considering he also never taught them how to love each other. And Luther wants to love his siblings. He wants to be a good brother.

“Me,” he says. “I'd be letting me down.”

“Okay,” says Bobby, like that settles it. “So keep that part of you.” Luther meets his eyes and nods. He wants to be someone who worries about his brother.

“And keep painting,” Bobby adds, turning around again. “Seriously. Tomorrow's the big day and you still have three walls left to do. Get to it.”

\---

Allison really cannot believe how great the Academy looks now. So much of it is the same, just...brighter, somehow. Happier. The awful revisionist portraits are gone, replaced by actual art - some from Mom's little space upstairs - and framed photos of Grace and the kids, and some of her old cross stitches. Bobby managed to gut everything that was Dad's and leave what was Mom's. 

“Unfortunately I don't have the power to remodel away the bad memories and trauma,” Bobby says as he leads them through the house, “but I got rid of the taxidermy and the weird, old school colonialist bullshit, which I hope has the same effect.”

“It does,” Diego says from behind Allison. His voice sounds choked. She turns to see Klaus gripping Diego's shoulder tight and Diego rubbing at his own neck in a scared sort of way. She knows what he wants to say and knows he never will, so she does it for him.

“You took out all the bad and left the good,” she says. “How did you know how to leave the love here?” Next to Bobby, Antoni gets teary-eyed. Bobby simply smiles at her and shows them all to her and Vanya's new rooms.

Half an hour later the eleven of them sit in the living room, filling the new, unbelievably comfortable sofas and chairs. Allison sits between Vanya and Luther until she sees Five going for one of the single plush chairs.

“I wanna sit there!” she exclaims, jumping up and dashing to it. Five blinks at her but shrugs and takes the spot she just vacated instead. She exchanges a small smile with Karamo. Five isn't alone anymore; he just has to get used to it.

“Is this family therapy, Karamo?” Diego asks, kicking his feet up and resting them on the coffee table. Beside him, Klaus sits with his legs crossed, his jiggling knees going still the moment Diego places his hand on one.

“Not officially,” Karamo says, settling alongside Bobby and Jonathan on another sofa.

“Although that’s not a bad idea,” Bobby says under his breath. Allison hums her agreement and shares a sly grin with him.

“There's room here for one of you,” Jonathan says to Tan and Antoni, who are squeezed into the plush chair opposite Allison's. 

“We're good,” Tan says. He's sitting on Antoni's lap, their fingers intertwined on where they rest on Tan's thigh. Allison rolls her eyes.

“I really wanted to talk to you all about something that I learned this week from meeting with you guys,” Karamo says, leaning forward and fixing the Hargreeves siblings with a serious gaze. “One idea - one misconception - kept coming up for each and every one of you as I spent time with you, and it's pretty ironic that you all have this in common: each of you feels _alone_.” Allison shifts anxiously in her chair. So this applies to her, too. Great.

“It just breaks my heart,” Karamo says. “It's so obvious to me, and to the rest of my boys, that you're not alone, that you have each other. But none of you can see that.”

“We were never expected to see each other as companions,” Diego says with a shrug. He takes a deep breath. “Vanya was right, in her book. We were only ever family in name, because we had no other words for it.” Allison blinks in surprise, glancing at Vanya to see her fidgeting with one of the buttons of her vest and looking shocked at Diego's admission. Diego pointedly does not look at either of his sisters as he crosses his arms over his chest. Klaus appears a bit abandoned at the loss of physical contact and fits his own hand over Diego's thigh. Allison narrows her eyes. 

“But you _are_ family,” Karamo says. “You made yourselves a family. Forced or chosen doesn't matter as long as that's what it means to all of you.” He looks over at Antoni and Tan, glances at Jonathan and Bobby, who all nod like they're affirming something. 

“We don't ever do this, as a rule, but we think you should all read your nomination entries out loud,” Karamo says. “It's important for all of you to hear and understand how deeply your siblings love you. Antoni?” Antoni produces a notebook from Tan's bag on floor and passes it to his right.

“Give it to Allison,” he instructs, and the notebook makes its way around the room to her. “It was originally on an iPad, but that's gone missing somehow?” He shakes his head. “Anyway, you first, Allison.”

Allison, who has never heard of an iPad anyway, opens the notebook to see her letter about Vanya. She bites her lip and takes a breath. Right. She can do this. It's just like reading lines from a script, except that it's actually meaningful. 

“‘I'm nominating my sister, Vanya, because she needs and deserves it,’” she reads. “‘Vanya recently got out of a bad relationship with a really manipulative guy--’”

“‘Got out of,’” Klaus snorts. “Nice way to put it.” Diego pinches his elbow and then leaves his hand there on Klaus’ arm.

“‘--and her confidence seems shaken,’” Allison continues. “‘More importantly, though, after our father died, we all learned she has powers like the rest of us. It’s been traumatic for her, and the truth is I'm the one who made her think she was ordinary when we were kids. I’ve never really been a good sister to her and there's only one thing I regret more than that. She's been made to feel worthless and invisible for most of her life. I love her so much. She deserves to be seen and recognized as equally important to the world as she is to me.’”

Allison sets the notebook on her lap and looks nervously at Vanya, who is blinking rapidly and smiling at her. It's the same smile Vanya gave her in the theatre that night, before their idiot brothers ruined it. Allison smiles back and leans over to pass the notebook to her. “Your turn, sis.” Vanya turns the page and clears her throat. Luther squirms uncomfortably beside her.

“‘I'm nominating my brother, Luther, because as much as the rest of our family could use something like this, I think he needs it the most urgently,’” Vanya reads in a shaky voice. “‘Recently he discovered that our dad didn't care about him, just like he didn't care about the rest of us. Dad always treated Luther like he was a cut above, and Luther has spent his whole life trying to gain his approval, and to feel loved by him, I think. Learning that it was for nothing has really messed him up. On top of that, a few years ago he was given a pretty terrible medical treatment without his consent and it left him with body image issues. Things have been tense between us lately, but I love my brother and I want him to know he's not a monster and he's always been worthy of love, regardless of our dad.’”

“Shit,” Luther mutters. He looks at Vanya and takes her hand in his. “Thank you, Vanya,” he whispers. She smiles. Across from Allison, Antoni sniffs, and Tan makes a soft sound of fond pity before kissing Antoni on the temple. Vanya hands over the notebook wordlessly and Luther flips to the next page. 

“‘I'm writing to nominate my brother, Five, who went missing when we were thirteen and recently came back differently despite looking the same as he did then,’” reads Luther. Five stops drumming his fingers on his knee but otherwise doesn't move his gaze from the new carpet below them.

“‘Five time traveled, got stuck, and spent forty-five years in the future, alone for the most part. He's older now but still in his thirteen-year-old body. I’m sure you can imagine how that would mess with your head. He also did some morally questionable things before he came back to us and I think he needs help with healthy coping mechanisms. He is obnoxiously stubborn, though. Five will tell you the only thing he actually needs is a decent cup of coffee, but he at the very least needs a new wardrobe because all he has to wear now are old Academy uniforms. I'm happy to have my brother back, even as different as he is, and he should know he was missed and thought of just as much as he thought of us while he was gone.’”

Luther swallows and looks up, clutching the notebook in his lap. Five hums. “I doubt it was just as much,” he says quietly. “I had nothing else to think about.” He looks up finally, looks at Luther, and reaches out to squeeze his knee. “But thanks. This week has been surprisingly beneficial. I'm happy to be back - with you guys, specifically, not just not alone.”

“It's the loneliness that kills you,” Luther says. Five smiles. He looks across the coffee table at the Fab Five and sighs.

“I didn't nominate anybody, obviously, but if I had, it would've been Allison,” he says. Allison startles as all eyes turn to her.

“Me? Why me? I'm--”

“The most well-adjusted, definitely,” Five says. “I have to assume that's the reason you think you don't need help. You do, though, just as much as the rest of us do.”

“I'm getting help,” Allison points out. She doesn't mean for it to come out defensive, but. “I've been in therapy for a year!”

“Court-ordered,” Five says. Allison snaps her mouth shut. “And that’s the thing: the help you're getting isn't from us. You deserve one family that's still intact - I know you know that - but the burden of keeping us intact isn't just yours. Let us carry our share of the weight.” Allison looks around at her siblings, at Karamo, and back again.

“Are you actually going to carry it?” she asks. She gives Diego a look. “I admit I have my doubts.”

“Diego's good for it,” Klaus says. Allison sees him squeezing at Diego's thigh. Diego is so focused on maintaining eye contact with her that he doesn't flinch. “Aren't you?” Klaus adds quietly, turning his head. Diego turns away from Allison's gaze to look at Klaus. He stares for a moment before nodding.

“Yeah, I'll carry my share,” he says. He's still not facing Allison. 

“I think it's your turn, Klaus,” Bobby says. Klaus jumps.

“What? I don't really believe that's necessary,” he says, but the notebook makes its way over to him anyway. “Diego knows I--”

“We had to read, so you have to read,” Allison says firmly.

“Oh, is this _my_ share of the weight? Fine,” Klaus groans. He takes his hand away from Diego's leg to turn the page. He doesn't put it back.

“‘I'm nominating my brother, Ben, who is dead. All he wears in the afterlife is black hoodies. Help me help him,’” he reads and shoves the notebook away like it's burning him, until it falls to the floor. Diego huffs out a laugh.

“Klaus,” Karamo says with a small indulgent smile.

“Yeah, that's what I said,” Klaus says, making an irritated face at the empty chair next to Allison. “And you're welcome, by the way.” He looks at Tan. “The pink looks fantastic on him.” Tan smiles.

“I _am_ very good at my job,” Tan says. Antoni tilts his head to look at Klaus. He's wearing eyeliner today, Allison realizes.

“You gotta read Diego's, babe,” Antoni says gently. Klaus licks his lips, sighs, and reaches down to pick up the notebook at his feet.

“Fine,” he says again. “Rude of you to use the eyeliner against me.” Antoni smirks. Klaus clears his throat and turns the page. He looks down at the notebook with such fierce intensity that Allison is surprised it doesn't catch on fire.

“‘I'm nominating my brother, Diego, because there's no one who deserves it more, including myself which is saying a lot,’” Klaus reads. Diego sits back further and Klaus pauses, glances sideways briefly but doesn't raise his head to actually look at his brother. Diego's hand is still on Klaus’ arm.

“‘More recently, Diego has experienced a few significant losses - our mom and his ex-girlfriend died within days of each other. His ex died protecting me, and it's obvious he still loved her, and the fact that he doesn't hate me should tell you why he's so deserving.’” Diego looks up sharply.

“Why would I hate you? I could never blame you,” he says. Klaus shakes his head. He still doesn't look up.

“You can't--” he starts, then clears his throat again. He pokes at Diego's knee. “You have to let me finish, or I'll never--”

“Okay,” Diego says. Allison has never heard him sound so reassuring. “Okay.” Klaus takes a breath.

“‘Diego doesn't have a real job,’” he continues. “‘He wears black all the time and carries knives everywhere, which is essentially his uniform for his vigilante work. Despite how much he hated our father, he's the only one who believes in the cause. We were supposed to make the world better and safer. Diego is the only one of us who's doing that. He deserves to learn to relax and give himself a break, but Diego took our assigned numbers to heart as a kid and has spent his entire life trying to move up from second best. He’s always comparing himself to everyone else and fails to see--’”

Klaus takes in a sudden, sharp breath. It's like he forgot what he wrote in his letter and now doesn't want to read it aloud for everyone - for Diego, maybe - to hear. He bites his lip, swallows, and rolls his shoulders back. Allison feels tension in her own. When Klaus picks it up again finally, his voice is so soft it's barely audible. “‘--and fails to see nobody compares to him.’” The room is silent for a few moments before Klaus slides the notebook over onto Diego’s lap.

“K--K--Klaus,” Diego starts, but Klaus shakes his head.

“Your turn, bro,” he says. It takes him a second, but he looks up and meets Diego’s eyes. Not for the first time this week, Allison wonders what exactly he’s seeing there. Klaus skims his hand up Diego’s back, curves it around the back of Diego’s neck, and shakes his head again. “Don’t worry about it. It’s your turn.” He taps his fingers on the base of Diego’s skull. “Come on. I know you don’t wanna look me in the eyes when you reveal to us all how much you love me.” 

“Right,” Diego says, tearing his gaze away from Klaus’ face. He picks up the notebook and turns the page. Klaus looks away but keeps his hand resting on Diego’s neck. Diego takes a breath and begins to read. “‘I’m writing to nominate my brother Klaus,’” he says, “‘because there’s nobody I know who deserves it more. He is recently sober for the first time since we were twelve and I would--’” He stops and sighs as he squirms away from Klaus’ touch.

“‘I would do pretty much anything to know how to help him stay clean,’” he continues, “‘but Klaus talks a lot without saying anything and I don't know how to ask. He hasn't told us about his time in Vietnam or losing the guy he fell in love with there.’”

“Wait, what?” says Luther. Diego gives him a glance that is just shy of withering before returning to his letter.

“‘If I didn't care about him enough to pay attention, I wouldn't know. Klaus is the only one of us to call our childhoods like they were. He knows he deserved better. He knows his worth. But Klaus thinks he's alone in the world, that he's chosen this path and burned bridges, but he could n--n--never--’” Diego stops, twists his mouth to the side. Klaus looks poised to say something but apparently thinks better of it and settles for touching him again, what looks to Allison like feather-light and comforting along Diego's shoulder, slipping under the maroon raglan shirt. Diego swallows.

“‘He could never burn the one that connects me to him. I need your help to make him see that,’” he finishes quietly. The whole house is quiet now. It feels both immense and tiny to Allison's nerves, concentrated on the group of them in this room. Suddenly a loud sniff makes them all jump.

“Sorry, I'm sorry,” Antoni says, his hands over his face. Allison grins like her own eyes aren't brimming. Tan tugs him close by his hair, kisses his forehead again.

“Don't apologize,” Vanya says kindly. Allison looks away from Jonathan lifting his long skirt to his face, presumably drying his tears, and catches Diego wiping at his eyes with the heel of his hand. Klaus’ fingers creep up Diego's neck, dig in under his jaw as he turns Diego’s head toward him. He whispers something that Allison can't hear.

“It's so clear that you all love each other _so_ much,” Karamo says softly after a minute or two. “And I don't think any of you truly realize how much of a team you could really be if you understood that. Is there something holding any of you back from that, or--”

“I--” Diego starts. Everyone looks at him sharply. He rolls his eyes, turns away from Klaus again and sighs. “I need Luther to name it - what Dad did to us, what Dad did to him.”

“Name it?” Luther says, lost. Allison is confused, too.

“Call it what it was,” Diego says, meeting Luther's eyes.

“And what was it?” Luther asks, a slight edge to his tone.

“Abuse,” Klaus declares, loud and unafraid. Allison sucks in an audible breath. Klaus is comfortable in the truth in a way she has never been. “Dad was abusive. He abused us. We were abused.”

“I'm not a _victim_ ,” Luther says, but his voice shakes this time.

“Not anymore,” Diego says. “We're survivors.”

“It was nothing we couldn't live through,” Luther snaps.

“Well, sure. Most of us, anyway,” says Klaus, and a moment later Ben appears, visible and nearly solid and lined with bright blue in the chair beside Allison. He sighs.

“I don't want to be here, Klaus,” he says.

“You can leave whenever you want,” Klaus offers. “You always could've left. We all always could have left.”

“It's not your fault, Klaus,” Jonathan says. “It's not any of your faults.”

“I know,” Klaus says. “I’m just saying--” He pauses, presses his fingers to his lips anxiously, bites at the bottom one for a second. “He isolated us. We were victims separately. We're survivors together. Karamo's right, you know. We're a family because we want to be.”

“There's nothing tying me to any of this except that I want to be here,” Ben agrees quietly. Vanya nods, and Allison finds herself nodding, too.

“Okay,” says Luther, looking down at his feet. “Okay.” Allison wonders what he's thinking about. His torturous solitude on the moon, probably, or waking up on a table unrecognizable, or maybe her. She turns away from him, in case he raises his eyes to her.

“You have to let me get there in my own time,” Luther says, looking up at Diego. “I can't just--” He exhales. “It has to be mine. Doesn't it?” He looks to Bobby, not Karamo, to Allison's surprise. Bobby nods and Luther's expression immediately shifts to _validated_. Diego sighs, but he nods, too.

“That's acceptable,” he says. “Alright. I'm ready then.”

“I love you guys. I'm so proud of all of you,” Antoni says. He's still crying. Allison kind of wants to laugh, but it's so sweet she can't bring herself to make him feel bad. 

“You _have_ all come very far in just a week,” Tan says, rubbing Antoni's back.

“Considering the _mountains_ of issues y'all have, it really is impressive,” Bobby says.

“I can't wait to see how this continues!” Jonathan exclaims. He's evidently decided to just pretend that his eyes aren't red.

“It's all you now,” Karamo says. “Consciously choose family every day, if that's what it takes for awhile. Choose not to be alone. You'll start to feel it eventually.”

\---

“Hurry, boys!” Jonathan calls excitedly, flopping onto the loft couch with a plate of enchiladas and molé in his hands. “You're missing Klaus and Diego in bed!”

“Oh my god!” Antoni shrieks, rushing to join him.

“ _Together?!_ ” Tan shouts. He all but dives into the minimal space between Antoni and the arm of the couch. Jonathan laughs.

“Of course not,” he says, although he's disappointed as well.

“You can't start without us!” Karamo says. He and Bobby squeezes in together on the huge chair next to the sofa.

“I paused,” Jonathan says defensively. “Everybody ready?” He presses _play_ again without waiting for an answer.

On the TV screen, Diego stands at the stove in his renovated apartment, cooking two omelettes and glancing over every minute or so at Klaus, who is sleeping soundly in his bed across the large room.

“I _love_ what you did to this bizarre boiler room apartment, Bobbers,” Antoni says before taking a bite of molé.

“Thank you,” Bobby says proudly. “It was a challenge. I actually ended up knocking out a wall and extending the space a little more, which made the locker room shower area smaller, but honestly, I don't think the landlord will notice, and frankly I don't care if he does. Diego and Klaus deserve that extra space.”

“Who is in that picture?” Karamo asks as the camera lingers on a small framed photo on the table between Klaus and Diego’s beds. “Is that Diego’s ex?”

“Yeah, that’s Detective Eudora Patch,” Bobby says. “It was very important to Diego that I know her title and her full name. He didn’t have a photo of her and I thought he should. Klaus has one of his boy, too, on his side. I had to track that down.”

On screen, Diego is just about finished with the omelettes when he takes a long look at Klaus, like he's hesitating and considering his options, before turning back and pulling out a grill plate and peaches. Antoni gasps.

“Oh my god, he's gonna grill the peaches!”

“Did...you not teach him how to grill peaches?” Karamo asks. Antoni shakes his head fervently.

“ _No!_ ” he exclaims. “I taught that to Klaus! Because Dave, Klaus’ Vietnam boyfriend, used to save canned peaches from their rations and grill them for, like, cute dangerous jungle dates and drizzle melted chocolate on them, and it was, like, this sweet little food-related memory for Klaus, but I guess Diego paid attention and wants to do something nice for him on his first morning of living with him.”

“Okay, I think I might be fully convinced,” Bobby says. “There's no other reason why you would cook something their _ex_ would--”

“He's even doing the chocolate!” Karamo says, his jaw dropped as they watch Diego melting chocolate in a pot on the stove. 

“Oh my god, this is so romantic!” Jonathan cries. 

“Antoni, why didn't you make _us_ grilled peaches?” Tan asks.

“Tomorrow,” Antoni promises. “For breakfast, since Diego is ignoring that this was meant to be dessert. We can just ignore that, too.”

They watch Diego plate the grilled peaches and drizzle chocolate onto them before balancing the dishes and making his way over to Klaus’ bed, where he's finally stirring awake. He twists around in the sheets and gazes bleary-eyed up at Diego, who suddenly looks uncertain.

“Morning,” Klaus mumbles. 

“Morning,” says Diego. “Do dead people sleep?” Klaus snorts and stretches his arms wide.

“No,” he says groggily. “Why?”

“Just wondering if it would be appropriate to say you sleep like the dead.”

“Sweet of you to ask,” Klaus says. “But trust me, the dead don't sleep.”

“But you do, here,” Diego says, sitting down on the edge of the bed.

“Yes, I do,” Klaus says, smiling lazily. “No bad memories within these walls.” He reaches back and slaps the concrete wall with his hand.

“Hope it stays that way,” Diego says as Klaus finally sits up and looks down at what Diego has brought over.

“You made me breakfast,” he says.

“Please don't tell me they're going to eat it on the bed,” Bobby groans. “I _gave them_ a table.” He rolls his eyes when Tan and Antoni vehemently shush him.

“You made me _grilled peaches_ ,” Klaus says, looking up with wide eyes at Diego's face.

“Yeah, well, I hope...that's okay. I know that was _your_ thing,” says Diego. “I just wanted to make sure you know….”

“Make sure I know what?” Klaus asks, taking a plate from Diego but not taking his eyes off him, even as he eats a peach slice and groans softly in satisfaction.

“That I want you,” Diego says, pausing long enough that Tan grabs at Antoni's shirt. “To stay here,” he finishes quickly, averting his gaze all of a sudden.

“Oh my god,” Karamo hisses. On screen, Klaus leans slowly forward, licking his lips and crowding Diego's space. Diego, notably, doesn't move away.

“You can just say you want me,” Klaus whispers. Diego turns his head to look at Klaus again. 

“Oh my god, oh my god,” Antoni chants.

“Their mouths are so close together!” Jonathan says breathlessly. 

“I don't want you to feel like you have to, like, earn your keep,” Diego mutters. “Not like that. I'm not like all those other guys - and women - in your life before.”

“I know you're not,” Klaus says. He dips down to press his forehead against Diego's shoulder. “You're my brother, after all.” Diego shudders. From this angle, the Fab Five can see the ghost of a devilish grin on Klaus’ shadowed face.

“Jesus _Christ_ ,” Bobby says under his breath. The other four nod, speechless. 

“ _I want_ to be here,” says Klaus. He leans back again, meeting Diego's eyes before he adds, “With you.” Diego nods wordlessly, apparently reassured, and Klaus takes the opportunity to hold up a peach slice between their faces, chocolate smearing onto his fingertips. 

“Eat a peach,” he says cheerfully. “They're very good.” Diego opens his mouth and lets Klaus feed him. Jonathan screams. Tan jumps to his feet.

“I can't take this! I can't watch this!” he declares, waving his hands around and nearly whacking Antoni in the head. “ _Please_ fucking cut away--oh thank God!” He slumps back onto the couch in utter relief as the TV shows Klaus and Diego entering the Academy, Klaus spinning around to take in the sight.

“It’s like you’ll never get used to it, isn’t it?” Diego says, looking around appreciatively as well.

“It’s almost like we never hated every moment of our lives here,” Klaus says.

“Tan,” Jonathan drawls in a delightedly suspicious tone, “did you get Diego a new knife holster?”

“I did!” Tan says. “Custom-made from the beginning, _not_ deconstructed from a sex harness he’s not into.”

“Mmmm, but it’s still leather, right?” Jonathan says. Tan leans forward and smiles indulgently at him.

“Yes, Jonny, it’s still leather. I could no sooner rid Diego’s closet of all leather than I could toss out Klaus’ lace-up pants,” he says with an air of fond resignation.

“It’s good that you gave them options, though,” Antoni says. “Those jeans look _amazing_ on Klaus, by the way. He has great legs.”

“I thought it was smart for him to have at least one pair with a bit of see-through mesh down the sides since that's what he looks and feels good in,” Tan says, nodding happily.

“Oh good, you're here,” Five says to Klaus and Diego on the TV. “I think Luther was secretly worried you wouldn't come.”

“Did Luther call a family meeting?” Bobby asks.

“Oooh, why did Luther call a family meeting?” Jonathan says. On screen, Luther appears as Diego and Klaus join him and the rest of their siblings in the living room. He looks sincerely happy to see them.

“What's this meeting about? Please don't say it's more family therapy,” Diego says. His hand hovers over his right hip, but he doesn't grab for the knife there. Progress, of a sort.

“Without a mediator? No way,” Luther says with a self-aware laugh. “No, it's, um--I have a surprise for all of you.”

“We get to keep Antoni,” Klaus guesses. Diego smirks at him. On the couch, Antoni makes a small noise of indignation and blushes to his ears.

“Tan would never let you keep Antoni,” Five says.

“That's true,” Tan says solemnly, petting Antoni's hair.

“A vers can dream,” Klaus says wistfully.

“Where's the surprise?” Allison asks.

“ _Allison_ doesn't even know?” Karamo says.

“Wait, I don't either,” says Bobby. “Do any of you know about this surprise?” The responding chaotic chorus of _no_ s is short one distinct voice. Jonathan and Bobby turn accusatory gazes onto a smug-looking Tan.

“Tanny, what did you do?!” Jonathan yells.

“You'll just have to get surprised with everyone else!” Tan says, obviously delighted. On the television, Luther leads the other Hargreeves siblings up a truly ridiculous amount of stairs to the attic, where Klaus looks around nervously, fidgeting until Diego settles a hand on his back.

“What's going on, Luther?” Klaus asks. “I hate it up here.”

“Yeah, I do, too, I just didn't know where else to keep all this hidden,” Luther says, turning toward a giant purple wardrobe and opening the doors.

“What's--” Vanya starts, but cuts herself off with a quiet gasp.

“Are those...what I think they are?” Allison asks, taking a step closer.

“What _is it_?!” shrieks Jonathan. “Luther, move!” As if on demand, Luther moves out of the way, and the Fab Five see a collection of seven uniforms - super suits, same color scheme, same materials, different styles.

“Oh my god, _Tan_!” Karamo says, awed.

“I asked Tan to design us all new suits,” Luther says. He keeps lowering his eyes to the ground now, shifting uncomfortably on his feet. “I thought - I _think_ \- we should learn to fight as a family, like we were meant to be. On our own terms. No Dad, no secrets. All of us together.”

“No jumpsuits,” Klaus points out. Luther smiles rather sheepishly. 

“Well, one jumpsuit,” he says, reaching up to pull out a suit of stretchy fabric, black with navy blue striping down the sides, a long white zipper up the middle. “I like the original design. It's simple.”

“I have one, too?” Vanya asks quietly. Luther gives her a smile, a degree of guilt evident in his eyes, before pulling down another suit - a literal suit, made of the same stretchy material, complete with a white vest with navy buttons. Vanya grins and steps forward excitedly to take it from Luther's hand.

“Oh my god, what's mine?” Allison says gleefully. Luther barely gets it out of the wardrobe before she's snatching it from him - almost a jumpsuit as well, black pants that connect to a navy blue crop top, in the criss-cross style she favors, and a black moto jacket with a white belt over that. “ _Awesome!_ ”

“Tan, these are incredible!” Bobby says.

“Thank you,” Tan says as Allison and Vanya leave the attic in a hurry to try on their suits. “You know, he asked me to do this on day _two_. I've had a hard time keeping it a secret from you boys the whole week.”

“Klaus, Ben has one, too,” Luther says on screen, holding forward a suit of black pants with a navy stripe down the side like Luther's, a black t-shirt, and a white hoodie with a black front pocket. “If he, you know, wants it.” Klaus turns his head to the right and raises his eyebrows questioningly, then smiles a few moments later and turns back to Luther.

“He wants it,” he says. Ben appears a second later, stepping forward excitedly to take it.

“Maybe not on all missions,” he says cautiously to Luther, who nods.

“Of course. Whatever you want.”

“I'm gonna go try this on,” Ben says to Klaus as he leaves the room. “Keep me corporeal.”

“Yeah, sure,” Klaus says with a wave of his _HELLO_ hand. He rolls his eyes in Five's direction. “So demanding, the dead one.”

“Still so weird to see him like that,” Luther mutters before reaching into the wardrobe again. “Five? This one's yours.” He holds up a uniform just like the old Academy uniforms, only in black and white with a navy blue tie. Five huffs out a single laugh.

“Funny,” he says, taking it from Luther. “Nostalgic.”

“Practical,” Tan says defensively.

“Practical,” Five admits. Tan makes a pompous little bowing gesture with the hand that isn't currently cupped gently around Antoni's neck. Five steps back, but doesn't leave. Instead, he looks at Diego, who seems frozen in place with a frown. 

“Klaus,” says Luther. The suit in his hand includes a sleeveless white crop top hemmed with navy blue thread, but it's the long, flowy black skirt that seems to intrigue Klaus.

“This one involved the trickiest construction,” Tan says. “That skirt can zip up in the middle to convert into pants, so he can switch it up whenever he wants, even during missions.”

“Love that!” Jonathan says. 

“Clever,” Klaus says on screen, the suit in his arms as he fiddles with the zipper. “Tan is very good at his job.” But he, too, looks at Diego and doesn't make a move to leave the attic.

“Diego,” Luther starts, gesturing vaguely to the only suit remaining in the wardrobe. His tone suggests he has something more meaningful to say, but Diego shakes his head.

“Bro,” he says, giving Luther a cutting, insincere smile, “you really think we can just pick up where we left off? I'm not--”

“Stop,” Luther says. “Just let me--” He sighs as Diego curves his fingers around the handle of the knife strapped to his hip. “Look, Diego, if we do this--”

“I'll be expected to just fall in line behind you?” Diego sneers.

“ _No_ ,” says Luther, “it would be with _you_ as the leader.” Diego's eyes go wide, his grip on the knife loosening until his hand drops to his side. The Fab Five all gasp.

“Did you know he was gonna do this?” Antoni asks Tan.

“Not at all,” Tan says. He leans forward to look at Jonathan, Karamo, and Bobby. “Did you?” They all shake their heads. Jonathan and Karamo have their hands over their mouths in shock.

“I didn't know but I'm not surprised,” says Bobby. “He wants to figure himself out. I think he knows he can't do that while holding onto this part of his identity that he might not even want anymore.”

“Never thought I'd hear you say _that_ ,” Diego says lowly. “What's the catch?”

“There isn't one,” Luther says. “Besides, I guess, knowing that we're a team, that it's not just you.” Diego narrows his eyes.

“You're seriously handing over the reins, just like that? To _me_?”

“If you want it.” Luther sighs again and looks down at his feet for a few moments before meeting Diego’s eyes again. “Look, I’m not in a good place to be a leader right now. Maybe I never was.” He shrugs hopelessly. “I was only Number One because Dad decided it for me, but now I get to choose for myself, and I don’t want it. It should be you. You’re the only one I trust with this.” Diego stares at him, unblinking. 

“You guys,” Karamo says quietly, “obviously this is a big step for Luther, but this is also _so_ huge for Diego. Whether or not the Umbrella Academy moves forward as a team is entirely up to him.”

“He’s finally being offered the responsibility he’s always craved,” Antoni says, nodding. His eyes are shining and he’s holding tight to Tan’s hand in anticipation. 

“If I agree to this,” Diego says slowly, glancing over at Klaus and Five before refocusing on Luther, “Vanya’s involved. Heavily. She has to learn how to use her powers and she can’t do that if we don’t show her that we trust her.” Luther nods silently, which Diego seems to take as encouragement to continue. 

“And Klaus is more than just a lookout. He can do things that--it’s not just Ben and ghosts, okay? He’s _capable_.” Five gives Klaus a questioning look at that. Klaus shrugs but doesn’t quite meet his eyes. Luther glances at Klaus, too, opens his mouth to say something before closing it and merely nodding again.

“All of us have to trust each other. There’s no room for bad faith on this team.” Diego’s words carry themselves like a warning.

“I trust you,” Luther says, his voice unwavering.

There’s a long moment of tension, of Klaus and Five bold in their uncertainty as they glance between their brothers, of the Fab Five perched on the literal and figurative edges of their seats as they stare at the TV, of Luther stepping back regardless of what Diego says, of Diego sizing Luther up like he always has, but maybe different this time. This might be the last time.

“So what’s my suit look like?” Diego finally says. Jonathan gasps, throwing his hands high into the air.

“That’s my boy! That’s my man!” he exclaims as the loft descends into chaotic cheering. “Look at him stepping up!”

“Oh, cheers to the Hargreeves family, boys!” says Karamo. The five of them dutifully raise their glasses.

“You guys better suit up,” Diego says on the screen, jerking his head toward Luther, Five, and Klaus as he pulls his own shirt off over his head. “Don’t think we’re not doing stair drills on Day One.” Klaus lets out one great guffaw of relieved tension. 

“I hope you don’t think I still have the lung capacity for that,” he says.

“ _Hang on_ ,” Tan says loudly, leaning forward and pointing an accusing finger at the TV. “Does Diego have a _nipple piercing_?”


End file.
